


The Anamnesis of The Forgotten

by ozsia



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: A-Z, Adversity, Amnesia, Bilingual, Biracial characters, Character Study, Characters of Colour, Chrom Put A Ring On It, Chrom is Marc | Morgan's Parent, Dorks in Love, Fictional Religion & Theology, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, It's something, M/M, Partnership, Racism, Surrogacy, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-07 09:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17363744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsia/pseuds/ozsia
Summary: Robin wakes up with nothing but the impressions of a nightmare and the foreboding cackles of a madman into reality, and the arms of a man whose achingly familiar. He wakes up with nothing, alone and lost on the outskirts of a town he doesn’t know the name of, in an area he doesn’t recognise.Robin wakes up with nothing and a whole lot to relearn.





	1. A is for "Ancestry"

Robin wakes up with nothing but the impressions of a nightmare and the foreboding cackles of a madman, into a reality which feels cold and distance. His uncertainty doubles when he meets the eyes of a man whose achingly familiar. He wakes up and is only cognisant of the change because he has nothing. He feels empty, alone and lost on the outskirts of a town he doesn’t know the name of, in an area he doesn’t recognise despite the echoes of some past memory he can't hold onto. 

His body is heavy as he allows himself to be heaved off of the ground and he can’t help it when he stumbles, having difficulty finding his feet as his head swims. He’s dizzy and his confusion only makes him dizzier as he is met with suspicion.

The two that had spoken to him when his eyes first opened, crouched over him with concerned frowns and encouraging smiles, continue to engage him now until their words start to register; begin to make sense from the gibberish that knocked around in his ears before. 

The man remains smiling as Robin tries to remember how to stand. His legs feel uncooperative, unnecessarily weak at the knees. ‘There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know,’ the man chides gently, in some attempt at humour maybe, but the words ring false.

‘I - nap?’ Robin cannot help but repeat, tongue awkward around the vowels. He slurs it, knows it doesn’t sound quite right as his mouth holds itself stubbornly in the wrong position for this language. He cannot think as to why.

‘…you don’t look injured,’ the man states as his gaze examines him unapologetically. His regard in any other circumstance may have made Robin feel uncomfortable, now he’s too - ‘but you seem…tired.’ 

Robin blinks heavy eyes. ‘I - I feel…tired,’ he admits softly. His instincts are screaming at him, an exhausted cry but he cannot comprehend what is wrong outside of physical fatigue and the vague sense that all is not well.

‘He doesn’t look too good, either, bro,’ the girl chimes in with large eyes. She’s holding a staff in her hands, the conduit crystal still somewhat aglow like it’s recently been used. From the foreign tingle of mana glowing against Robin's skin, he can guess what on. ‘Someone mug you? Need us to punch someone for you?’

Robin blinks at the suggestion, one that he wouldn’t have expected from such a young girl. Wearing twin tails on either side of her ‘Lissa! Don’t say that,’ the man castigates with clear disapproval. 'We’re not in the business of petty revenge.’ 

‘Well, maybe _you’re_ not,’ the girl - Lissa, mutters, something akin to mischief emanating from her person. A cheeky one, someone to watch for. Robin almost smiles at her but finds his energy is too low for it. 

‘Milord? May I encourage caution.’ Robin jolts not even having noticed another man standing a few paces behind, a severe expression carved upon a stony disposition. A knight, Robin can recognise from the man’s armour and his mount. The way he spoke - not like a request but a reminder only strengthens such an assumption. 

The knight’s lord seems to ignore his council and carries on like no one had spoken. ‘You look to be in one piece at least, fogginess aside.’ Robin doesn’t _feel_ in one piece but a thousand, as if he’s been dismantled and shattered while asleep without even knowing it. ‘Can we help you?’ 

His mouth opens before he tells it to: ‘no - I don’t think so, Chrom, I just need to sit.’ He feels - lacking, not just weak. Empty _,_ hollowed out and _empty_. But he does not understand how to explain it to himself, never mind someone else. Maybe if he stays still he'll catch up to how the world is moving.

Chrom pauses. ’…you know of me?’ 

Robin looks at the man’s open face, his guileless eyes - rich and blue as any gem, and thinks _I should._ But he cannot place the reason behind that problematic thought, does not know how this man’s name appeared on his tongue. The impressions that they’re important weigh on him, though. 

‘I - no?’ but Robin’s not sure so he _sounds_ unsure, ‘I don’t believe so.’ 

‘You said my name.’ 

‘…yes,' Robin acknowledges Chrom's state but cannot explain  _how._  'I’m not making any sense.’ 

‘Oh, I think you make plenty,’ the knight comments darkly and Robin cannot help how insecure his position feels, even stood out here in the open like he is.

‘Frederick,’ Chrom says in a scolding tone, giving the knight a look Robin cannot interpret even half the words for, before Chrom is looking back again. 'Apologises, friend. What brings you here?’ 

‘Here? I -’ Robin attempts to reason his appearance on the ground, laid out in the middle of the day but he doesn’t have answers. He comes up short. ‘I do not know. I - I don’t recall. I’m sorry, where _is_ here?’

Frederick’s eyebrows raise. ‘That’s the story you’re going with?’ 

‘Story?’

‘This is Yodall, between the border and Ylisstol, our capital,’ Frederick informs him and Robin cannot even thank him because he’s not doing it to be kind. The words are pointed, almost threatening. ‘Do you not know of it?’ 

Robin swallows as he forces himself not to look around, to check the area even if just to test the legitimacy of himself. It would appear dishonest and he probably already looks enough like a liar. '…should I?’ 

Frederick’s eyes narrow. 'Yodall is under frequent attack of…pests.’ 

Those words have an underlying meaning Robin doesn’t understand. ’Vermin?’ 

The knight snorts unkindly. It’s a harsh sound. ‘Quite.’ 

_‘Frederick,_ ’ Chrom hisses as Lissa looks increasingly awkward. Whatever the man was trying to imply, he drops and allows Chrom to take over whatever this is. 

‘May I ask your name?’ Chrom requests. 

‘It’s - my name is…’ Robin stumbles, blindly reaches for a title, a name in which to introduce himself with, and comes up with nothing. His head begins to ache as he searches through the darkness; the heavy smog laying thick on his thoughts. ‘I - I don’t know. I -’

‘Alright,’ Chrom soothes, as Robin grows more panicked, because who doesn't know  _their name?!_ ‘Let’s stay calm here. What do you remember before waking up?’ 

‘Milord, you cannot honestly be playing along with him.’ 

‘Frederick, please.’

‘I - nothing. I - I was dreaming…I think, but even my dream has left me now. I…’ Robin feels himself begin to shake, his body betraying him as he fights to stay calm. _What’s my name?_ he thinks,  _what’s my_ name _._ ‘Please, I - I’m lost. I don’t mean to inconvenience you but…’ _but what?_ he thinks, what is he hoping for? _anything,_ part of him responds desperately. 

This brings Chrom up short again. 'Nothing at all?’ Robin knows the darkness that came after his terror, a voice maybe, and Chrom’s name but that’s not how things should be. Robin shakes his head.

‘Oh! I’ve heard of this!’ Lissa exclaims and Robin can’t help but flinch. ‘You have amnesia!’

‘A-amnesia?’ Robin repeats numbly. 

‘Yes! It’s when a condition or head trauma causes a person to forget themselves. My master healer as been teaching me about it,’ Lissa lectures with wild hand gestures. ‘A brain's never quite the same afterwards, even if someone’s able to remember the things they’ve forgotten.’

Fear curdles Robin’s stomach as realisation hits like lightning, sudden and shocking and often times unfair. He feels the blood drain from his face and clasps his hands together, to try and stop them from shaking.

‘Yes, _thank you,_ Lissa,’ Chrom attempts to mediate as he places a hand on Robin’s shoulder. He barely feels it there. ‘It’s fine, we can - do something.’ 

‘Do _what?_ There’s no real successful treatment for -’

‘ _Lissa.’_

The girl blinks and looks towards Robin and begins to panic. _‘Oh._ Er…I mean. There _are_ treatments! But - it really depends on how you lost it. If it’s an emotional problem and your brain’s _made_ you forget to protect you, then it may never return. Sometimes trauma is easier, because a talented enough healer can fix what’s gone wrong but…er. Yeah, I mean, we can look see!’ 

The “ifs” and “maybes” just make Robin feel worse as he bites harshly on the inside of his mouth as his nails dig into skin. Frederick scoffs. ‘Milord, milady, you cannot seriously be taking this under advisement?’ 

‘It’s a real thing, Freddy!’ Lissa says with some real offence. Her hands curl inwards, she stands straighter but Robin doesn’t have time to think about Lissa’s flip-flopping emotions when he’s trying to rein in his own.

‘I am not doubting your diagnosis, milady,’ Frederick reassures calmly, ‘only the circumstances. This is suspicious.’ 

Chrom sighs and gestures towards Robin. 'Frederick, _look_ at him.’ 

‘Yes, I am,’ the knight says with cold eyes, ‘are you?’ 

Chrom sighs again. ‘This is a serious issue that’s been reported to us, Frederick, we cannot just do _nothing_.’ 

‘I just want to remind you that this could very well be a trap.’ 

‘An ill-conceived one, if it is,’ Chrom says dismissively.

‘Milord, he’s a Plegian.'

Robin doesn’t know what that means. ‘A Plegian?’ he asks quietly.

‘You cannot possibly expect us to believe you do not know that either,’ Frederick demands with no small amount of disbelief.

‘I…’ he looks between them all, not sure what to say. No words come to him and he’s left struggling until Chrom reaches out after removing a glove. He moves to grasp hold of Robin's hand. Robin jolts at the contract, and blinks in bewilderment for a moment before glancing down, and properly focusing on what he hadn’t when Chrom pulled him back onto his feet.

Chrom’s skin is pale, like clay, pinkish around his knuckles while Robin at his lightest is wheatish, bronzed at his darkest. Robin startles and glances down at himself on instinct. He’s wearing purples and blacks and greys and golds, while Chrom and Frederick are in blues and silvers and Lissa in yellows and browns. The differences are obvious; they are not the same.

Robin finds himself biting his lip, gnawing at it as looks back up to Chrom’s eyes. ‘Plegian?’ he says again, weakly as the weight of the word leaves him unsettled.

‘From Plegia,’ Chrom informs him, as he releases Robin, ‘our sister country. You’re a long way from home.’

‘Then...how would I have gotten here?’ Robin is so confused. He looks down at himself again, and glances over were he was laid out on the grass. His clothing isn’t particularly heavy, though his cloak seems to be weighed down, but not enough to compensate his lack of luggage. Nothing about him says he’s been travelling.

‘Quite.’ Frederick’s voice is sharp, unfriendly. ‘The Western border is closed and the Northern one might as well be. While coming through from the West isn't illegal you'd require papers, which I very much doubt you have and the likelihood of you travelling from the North is slim.’

‘...why is that?’ Robin almost doesn’t question it. Every time he opens his mouth, he seems to annoy Frederick more. Lissa’s grown quiet but watchful, and even while she’s smiling at him, and Robin doesn’t think that’s all there is to it. Chrom seems the most open to his circumstance, but Robin doesn’t want to push the man’s sincerity.

‘Regna Ferox has been in isolation for over ten years. They’ll trade but the borders are relatively closed to outsiders.’ Everything Frederick says is pointed and declaring viciously _“you shouldn’t be here”._

‘We’ll work this out,’ Chrom states kindly when Robin finds he has nothing he can say.

‘Un! We’ll take you back to Ylisstol with us; see if you have your papers,’ Lissa offers though Robin knows he won’t be able to deny them. ‘I’m still training but there’s plenty of healers back home that might be able to help you.’

‘Yes, with his “amnesia,”’ Frederick scoffs with clear disapproval.

Robin understands that his story is farfetched, though he can’t quite grasp _why_. His intuition tells him that the distance Frederick wants to create is fair and without the knowledge to refute the knight’s distrust, he can only go off the feelings his gut is trying to tell him.

Still, he allows them to guide him onto the dirt road with the intentions to lead him to Ylisstol. His nervousness grows with every step, no matter how Chrom and Lissa try to put him at ease but even that fades as the silence grows. Until Robin has to break it.

‘I - I’m not…’

‘Speak up,’ Frederick snaps as Robin’s voice fades.

‘Frederick.’ The knight settles back down but it’s too late, Robin hesitates as he glances between the two men. 

‘I’m not in much trouble, am I?’ Robin finds the courage to ask. He’s worried because something’s not right and he doesn’t know what it is. ‘I - I haven’t done anything wrong.’ He says that but he can’t be sure that’s true and it’s upsetting. 

‘Yet.’ Animosity; that’s what Robin hears from this knight. Is it deserved? His mind grabs hold of that question and refuses to let it go.

‘ _Frederick_.’ Chrom’s starting to sound more annoyed but Robin appreciates when the man turns to him, it vanishes. 'No,’ he responds gently, ‘your presence here is a bit of a…grey matter? It’s not illegal in and of itself, but the border does require papers to oversee your stay.’ 

‘Oh.’ 

‘But I’m sure we can get this matter cleared up for you.’ Robin wished he held Chrom’s optimism.

‘And…what if it doesn’t?’ He’s tentative here, can’t help how his stomach churns in circles, as he thinks about what may come if these people can’t find what he needs.

‘We’re not going to hurt you.’ Chrom sounds certain about this, reassuring way that Robin desperately needs even if he can’t quite believe it. 

‘Right.’ 

‘No, truly.’ Chrom’s watching him carefully now and Robin isn’t sure what to do with it. ‘We’re the Shepherds, we don’t needlessly hurt people.’ 

Robin frowns as he looks at Chrom’s sword and Frederick’s armour and Lissa’s battle crinoline. '…you tend sheep?’ 

Chrom sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. 'Well…our herd is a bit different, but the concepts the same.’ 

'Even if that’s true. I don’t think that counts.’ 

‘I think it does.’

Robin frowns. 'But I’m…suspicious.’

Chrom inclines his head in consideration. He doesn’t deny that, but it also seems like he doesn’t care. 'You knew my name. Maybe it’s a sign.’ 

‘Of what?’ 

Chrom huffs a laugh. ‘Anankos knows.’ He shrugs carelessly but he's smiling wider. 'Some times fate has a funny way of working out.’ 

‘This hardly feels fated.’ 

‘Maybe you’re just tired.’ 

‘I’m not tired, I’m Rob -’ Robin stops his bad joke, a hand raising to touch his mouth as he realises what’s returned to him. His feet halt. ‘Oh. I’m…my name is Robin.’ 

‘…you remembered?’ Chrom’s smile brightens, eyes glinting excitedly. 

‘That was quick.’ The judgement in Frederick’s voice is strong but Robin ignores it in favour of the stunning knowledge of his _name._ Robin, his name. Something’s still - absent, but he pushes that away too. Because he _has a name._

‘It can be sometimes,’ Lissa defends even as Robin’s lips curl into a smile almost as sunny as Chrom’s. ‘No one knows what triggers memories to return.’ 

‘My name is Robin,’ Robin says in awe. 

‘Well met, Robin.' Chrom grins. 'Is that foreign -?' 

‘Fire,’ Lissa whispers and it cuts into the moment. ‘Yodall! It’s on fire!’

* * *

Frederick said that Robin is a trap. A trap for _what,_ Robin only begins to understand when he runs after the self-proclaimed Shepherds as they leave him to give aid, towards the fire and the screams and the chaos. The battle he steps into has clear lines drawn, and his heartbeat raises a new tempo when he sees that the offenders share the dark colour of their skin with him.

‘They keep crossing the border.’ Chrom huffs as he cuts down a dark mage which was aiming at Lissa. Cowardly as it is, it makes sense to take out your opponents healer first.

‘Damn Plegians,’ Frederick swears and Robin feels his breath coming out just a little faster, having nothing to do with how much he’s just run, or how he’s decided to put himself in the firing line.

 _Plegians_. Robin swallows and begins to understand the accusing way Frederick branded him with a race he can’t identify as. It isn’t enough to turn him away and he isn’t sure why it isn’t. Intellectually, Robin can think of half a dozen reasons not to get involved.

His arrival is unexpected and Frederick nearly takes off his head when he intercepts an attack meant for Chrom, with movements too sudden and violent. It’s easily misinterpreted as something they aren’t. It isn’t until the throwing axe imbeds itself where Chrom was standing that Frederick redirects, and Chrom relaxes under Robin’s hands. ‘How -?’ Chrom attempts to say but Robin has already refocused.

‘Ser knight, to your left!’ Robin warns, having kept an ear on the barbarians’ frantic yelling. It’s obvious that they aren’t expecting to be interrupted in this destruction and are quite unorganised. That they aren’t more colluding is a mystery, though the Shepherds don’t seem to respond to their words.  

Frederick moves and narrowly misses the sword aimed at his back as he fends off the the axe wielder. Robin pulls out his tome; the book that fell out of the binding attached to his belt when he ran after Chrom. He palms it almost clumsily. He doesn’t remember, but as he feels static charge in his fingertips, he thinks he might not have to.

‘Magic?’ Chrom gasps, expression startled, ‘do you remember how to use that?’

Robin’s stomach does a complicated summersault. ‘We’re about to find out.’

His tome is cracked open, balanced in his palm. It's just a moment - the time it takes to aim at his target, charging his mana as he calls through the might of lightning. Of Ramiel. He dischargers the power he's managed to generate at the axe wielder. He can taste the ozone on his tongue, feel his hair stand on end and while he hits his target, Robin can tell immediately he hasn’t properly compensated for the seizing of his muscles, and with any other element, it wouldn’t have been enough to still meet his mark. (But then, with any other element, you didn’t _have_ to worry about that particular concern). It’s a risk, he knew that distantly; a warning echoing in the back of his mind, but with Frederick engaging the swordsman, he needed the support and quickly.

Slicing through his combatant, Frederick turns with a startled expression to see the dead fighter behind him and wisps of blazing energy dissipating. Robin lowers his outstretched hand, tries to ignore how his fingers twitch. Ignore how much he's trembling. ‘You’re a mage?’ the knight demands as he swerves to Robin, now that the field is seemingly clear.

Robin frowns, glances down to the golden tome in his hold. It’s old, he can tell that by the spine and how battered the cover is; well loved and well used and on its way out. ‘…yes?’ he says with uncertainty, looks up to meet Frederick’s unimpressed face. He sweeps back one side of his robe as a sword is pressing against his leg from where it is sheathed to his belt. He doesn’t want to draw further consideration from them, but he’d prefer to be upfront. ‘Then again…’

Frederick’s eyes narrow. ‘….Plegians aren’t known for mixing disciplines,’ he says but Robin doesn’t know what to tell him. He has no real idea what a “Plegian” is outside of tan skin and invading foreign countries. He doesn’t have an excuse, he doesn’t have _answers_. He wants them, desperately, but he can’t give what he doesn’t have.

‘Perhaps,’ Chrom interrupts calmly as Robin flounders, ‘we can hold off on this, for later.’

‘Yes, milord,’ Frederick allows because there’s a time and a place and even with the dread hanging over Robin’s head, there’s a village on fire around them and barbarians running amok.

‘Robin.’ He startles at the address, the sound of his name from another’s mouth. Deep blue eyes assess him. ‘You can understand the Plegians, can’t you?’

Robin hesitates. ‘…can you not?’

Chrom’s face, pale with urgency, pauses with sympathy. 'No, we can’t. They weren’t speaking Ylissean, like we are now.’

‘Ylissean?’ Robin mouths and suddenly hears the accent he hadn’t before in his repetition, and remembers his absentminded confusion when he first woke up and they'd addressed him. When everything sounded so wrong. 'This is…’

‘You didn't realise you were speaking a foreign language?’ Frederick asks skeptically.

Robin fumbles for some sort of explanation. ‘It - it was the first thing I heard?’ Which may be the most probable reason, whether it’s was true or not… Robin doesn’t know.

Frederick with his perfectly raised eyebrow, the scornful set of his lips, is almost too much. ‘Later,’ Chrom says again, intercepting whatever Frederick is about to throw Robin’s way. He’s grateful for it. ‘Are there more of them?’ he asks pointedly instead.

Robin takes a breath. _Right_ , of course. He feels himself sinking but there just isn’t time for his anxiety. This creeping fear as he realises the more he’s lost. He attempts to re-centre himself. He’s not what’s important here. Later, when the fires are out, he can slink off and break down about this. ‘Right. Yes. There are more of them, near the fountain. They were talking about getting reinforcements.’

‘…I shouldn’t ask this of you,’ Chrom says with some contrition but it's dwarfed by his determination and given the situation, Robin can’t blame him, ‘but will you offer us your aid?’

‘I fear I already have,’ Robin swallows but his feet are already pointing towards the danger, knees bent and prepared to take off. ‘I - I don’t know what it means.’

Chrom’s face holds his sadly and they stare at each other until Lissa grabs his arm. ‘Don’t worry, Robin!’ she exclaims with wide eyes and her face has so much compassion it makes Robin feel uncomfortable. ‘We’ll take care of you!’

Robin inhales slowly. ‘The fountain,’ he reminds them because these people are strangers and they really don’t owe him anything. ‘I don’t know where that is.’

‘Follow me,’ Chrom mutters with some distraction now.

And he does.

It’s the right thing to do.

* * *

His body attempts to energise itself as they reach their destination. He wonders briefly if he’s used to combat. Having both a melee and a projectile weapon says as much, maybe it’ll be clearer a second time.

When they get to the fountain, they can see the barbarians looting and wrecking mindless destruction. Robin knows not to re-engage. From where they’re crouched behind the tavern, Robin stops Chrom from sprinting out when the fighter with a flying axe knocks over a plant box.

‘Robin?’ Chrom hisses and it’s the most antagonistic this man's sounded towards Robin since they met. But Chrom gives him the benefit of the doubt and again, here, where Robin could be sabotaging them...Chrom gives _him the benefit of the doubt_. This nobility serves good men. Foolish, but good.

‘There’s more of them than there are of us,’ Robin tells him succinctly because Chrom seems good but also _impatient,_  ‘and a majority of them are stronger. We have to pick them off.’

Chrom’s face pinches. ‘That’s...sly.’

Robin frowns. That’s deliberate wording and he can taste Chrom’s disapproval. ‘That’s… strategy.’ He doesn’t want an argument, it doesn’t feel like his place. It’s not just that - this is how this should work, isn’t it? His gut is _telling_ him it is. For everything he doesn’t know, this feels right. ‘It’s a matter of consideration. Weigh whose lives means more to you. You, your companions and what you’re standing for, or those you’re standing against.’

‘...you have a point,’ Chrom admits with some reluctance. ‘What would you have us do?’

‘...me?’

‘You seem to know what you’re doing.’ Then, Chrom smiles and it really makes Robin want to hit him. _Are you out of your mind?_ he wants to exclaim in utter bafflement. Who - who _says_ that to a man they hardly know, who’s obviously not all with it. ‘Besides, you’re right, they have more numbers and you’re our advantage.’

‘Milord, are you sure this is wise?’ Frederick asks lowly.

‘Robin?’ Chrom insists as he ignores Frederick’s very sound caution. He seems to do that a lot.

Robin licks his lips, glances back over to every opponent he can see and thinks. Four in front of the fountain (three barbarians, one fighter), making a nuance of themselves, two at the back (one barbarian and one thief). And a further three behind the bridge, of which he can barely see. He understands their threat level like he’s come to know the Shepherds. It’s instinct; his brain mapping out strengths and weaknesses for him, but right now that isn’t when he should be questioning it.

‘We’ll draw them out,’ Robin announces. Frederick is their strongest, however he’s also the largest and most intimidating member of their group. He’s not going to lore anyone from their positions. Chrom is more likely to get a few bites but his defence seems weak and if he gets surrounded in the process than he’ll be at risk. Lissa would be great, she’s quick on her feet but she has even less protection than her brother.

And Robin? Robin doesn’t trust himself. He doesn’t know his abilities or what he’s capable of. He doesn’t _know,_ but maybe that’s why he needs to be the lamb in this situation. He’s certainly the only one who should.

‘Here,’ Robin murmurs, ‘here’s what we can do.’

‘Are you sure?’ is all Chrom asks, afterwards, with a degree of trust Robin in no way deserves. They’re all staring at him and even Frederick is silent when Robin laid out a plan.

‘Yes,’ Robin replies and means it as much as he can.

Chrom inclines his head and with that, it’s confirmed: Robin will be the decoy.

* * *

Robin collapses as soon as the leader is felled. He’s sweating and his muscles are tight. He can’t remember if this type of exertion is normal for him, but there was certainly a number of close calls; especially when the invaders realised their ploy and the added insult of a "traitor." 

 _'You - you betray your country! How do you stand with those monsters?!'_ one screamed and again, Robin held no answers. You cannot hesitate on the battlefield though, so he didn't. Robin doesn't know if he should regret that. 

Mentally, he's more a mess than he was when he first woke up. That shouldn't be a surprise, battle isn't how people relax. At least, Robin doesn't believe it's how  _he_ would relax. Uneasiness grows, though. 

He's hurt too, and that's the most inconvenient thing because it makes it harder to focus. Robin has a lot of cuts and scrapes and they sting, but what has him feeling off balance is the sword that was a hair from slicing through his face entirely.

He doesn’t think the shadow of his hood quite hides the thin slash carved into the bridge of his nose and onto his cheeks. It hurts enough to make him feel sick but it’s mostly dried up now, so it doesn’t feel important even if it steals his concentration.

‘Are you alright?’ Chrom asks in concern as he finds Robin leant up against an abandoned cart. There’s a tired slump to his back and he can’t straighten himself. Chrom’s some kind of noble, that much is obvious but Robin can’t bring himself to care in this moment. Chrom squats next to him, places a hand on his shoulder like Chrom doesn’t either and Robin isn’t sure if that makes this easier. ‘You used a lot of mana.’

Robin hums in agreement; he did. He tried switching out to his sword when he’d become too faint, but with only melee fighters in their group, it was reliant on him to even the group out. He feels wrung out for it too, but he can’t bring himself to regret it. ‘Yes.’

‘…once we get back to Ylisstol, a healer will attend to you,’ Chrom asserts, looking directly to Robin’s eyes with a strength that’s unfair. ‘You - you’ll forgive me for saying, but you seemed unsteady before and this battle hasn’t helped.’

Robin blinks. ‘I’m…still coming back with you?’

Chrom pauses. ‘Well, yes. We can’t exactly leave you here.’

His stomach twists but Robin feels very resigned to this, and is overall too tired to fight wherever this Shepherd is trying to guide him. If that means Ylisstol, then that means Ylisstol. ‘A prisoner again, huh?’

Chrom cringes. ‘It’s not my intention to…limit you, I trust what you say when you tell me you are without your memory,’ he says and squeezes Robin’s shoulder. ‘And because I trust what you say, you can’t expect me to abandon you back to the road, especially after all the help you’ve given us.’

Robin swallows and wonders idly when it was that he last had something to drink. ‘It was nothing.’

‘It was _not nothing_ ,’ Chrom retorts in disbelief.

‘It was definitely something,’ Lissa agrees as she approaches with her healer’s staff held behind her, between her two good hands as she skips forward. She’s smiling still, though her brows are furrowed. ‘How’re ya doing, Robin?’

‘I’m fine,’ Robin says.

Lissa’s eyebrow furrow. The response is obviously not one she expected. ‘...you’re covered in blood.’

Robin glances down to find his beige shirt _is,_ in fact _,_ covered in blood. Must’ve been from his face. It’d been bleeding pretty heavily for a while before it stemmed itself. ‘Oh, that’s stopped now,’ he reassures.

 _‘Stopped!_ That doesn’t make it _better!’_ Lissa shouts as she stomps forward. Not delicate, indeed. She reaches out and rips his hood back, leaning down in his space and is completely unapologetic about it. Robin’s face is tilted up towards her and not a second passes before he’s staring into assessing eyes.

‘What’s the verdict?’ Chrom enquires.

‘Hmm...so, yeah, it’s not that deep but it’s still not good, Robin!’

‘...sorry?’ Robin offers tentatively.

Lissa scoffs and releases him, readying her heal staff in front of his nose. Robin’s vision explodes into green light when he doesn’t respond fast enough. By the time he can see again, Lissa’s stepping back with a stern expression. ‘You need to learn to take better care of yourself!’ she declares.

Robin hesitates. The freshness of his wound has hardened into something crusty, fragile. The pain has soothed though, softened into something bearable. The smaller injuries disappear almost entirely. ‘Thank you.’

‘Thank me by not scratching at it!’ Robin concedes this with a nod, though the small movement makes him feel nauseous. Heal staffs aren’t miracles after all. ‘That face of yours also needs balm to stop it from scarring.’’

Robin huffs in laughter. ‘Okay.’

* * *

‘Oh, milord,’ Frederick says as they join him and the man he’s been quietly conversing with. Robin is walking slow, feeling weak kneed and annoyingly - “floaty”. He doesn’t feel grounded, and he’s not sure how much of that is waking up without a memory to his name, or the mana deprivation. ‘This gentlemen was just offering us the use of his Inn -’

‘I thought ya said ya got ‘em all!’ the man yells, cutting through the calmness of Frederick’s voice with something fearful. The townsman takes a step back, hands curling into fists at his sides and Robin tenses as he notices who the man’s glare is directed towards. As wary as Robin feels, he isn’t able to respond before Chrom is edging in front of him.

He doesn’t feel much safer. Confusion numbs him as the man starts yelling, face snarled and eyes glinting. Frederick steps in to try and pacify the situation, but despite that, and Lissa suddenly pressing into his side, trepidation builds.

‘Sir, please, calm yourself,’ Frederick attempts to soothe as he raises his hands. ‘Our - hooded companion means you no harm.’

‘What?’ The townsman says weakly as he glances between the knight and Robin. ‘Yer - yer Shepherds. Yer ain’t meant to be consorting wit the likes of ‘im.’

Robin can taste ashes and the faintest spark of magic on his tongue as he struggles to breath in. He’s missing something _(everything),_ and that just makes him feel more vulnerable as he attempts to stand his ground against such hatred. Should he be? The whispers of doubt are like the faintest trickles of poison in his blood.

‘He just helped save you all!’ Lissa states with outrage on Robin’s behalf but her own stance is unsteady. He can’t tell what’s destabilised her. He suspects its what’s stolen all the words from his lips.

The townsman sneers. ‘Ee’s a filthy _heathen!_  Worshipin’ that Fell Dragon like their Mad King!’ Every word is a condemnation Robin barely comprehends but each one is still like an arrow to the back. He wonders if his skin is meant to be so thin. ‘Brings nothin’ but death and misfortune! The lot of em!’

‘Sir,’ Chrom says but Robin feels like he hears a line being drawn. Chrom’s hand returns to Robin’s shoulder. The weight almost makes Robin feel off-kilter. ‘Peace, please. We were just leaving, besides.’

 _‘Good,’_ the townsman snarls, ‘ee don’t belong ‘ere! 'im and ‘is kind shoulda been wiped out in the Holy Crusade.’ The words were spat with nothing but venom and although they meant nothing to Robin, they _do_ mean something. Lissa gasps, horrified, and Frederick’s expression slips from the cordial thing he had masked himself with, and into something dangerous. Chrom’s grip becomes bruising as Robin allows himself to be led away.

‘You can’t just _say -’_ Lissa begins to reprimand behind them before Frederick hushes her somewhat apologetically, with something Robin's can't quite make out. ‘But Freddy!’ she protests with a cat like hiss.

_‘Lissa.’_

More townsfolk are leaving the safety they had hidden themselves in and they are not anymore welcoming. Robin’s entourage grow tenser with every person who notices them - notices _Robin,_ and stops and stares. Their whispers are accusing and their fingers inculpate him. Lissa stops objecting.

Robin pulls his hood back up, tries to make himself smaller. He  _feels_ smaller. They leave the damaged town quickly but the townsfolk and their glares follow his back far into the distance. It burns. When Robin finds himself back on the dirt road, he wonders where it will lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter covers the Premonition: Invisible Ties and the Prologue: The Verge of History.)
> 
> I am so tired. I don't even know why I wrote this. I'm in two minds whether I like it or not. Leaning towards the former to a degree where I may just delete this. I think I just wanted a place for all my headcanons. I don't know. Please be kind and ignore all the mistakes I've no doubt missed in my proofreading. My eyes are burning and time is not my friend. I was given the Awakening art book and this is probably all his fault. Shit I have so much to do. It's 1100PM and I feel like it's four in the morning. I hate myself a lot. I hope you enjoyed this mess.
> 
> Edit: I've added content. Robin attempting a dad joke among other things.


	2. B is for "Bigotry"

It’s cold at night; when the sun goes down and the campfire Frederick tends the spark for is their only source of light, it begins to trouble Robin. He appears to be the only one affected by the temperature, huddling up in his cloak, and tucking his trembling hands into his chest. The flash of purple catches his eye and he glances down to see the the sharp lines of a symbol decorating the back of his hand.

 _Kee aankhen bhakti,_ Robin thinks, translating to “eyes of the devoted.” The knowledge just appears, like it was never gone. Like his name when he introduced himself after a startling moment where he tried to draw it out of his mind, only to find that it abandoned him. Or the understanding for battle that probably saved his life today. Robin looks back to the fire, absently rubbing his mark into the exposed skin of his clavicle.

‘Wow, you look really cold, Robin.’ Lissa’s voice is quieter than before. The Shepherds have been almost demoralised since they left the village. They’ve been drowning in the silence since and Robin hasn’t found it in himself to try and lighten the mood.

‘I don’t know why,’ Robin forces himself to say because he’s the only one suffering from the absence of the sun, ‘blood loss, maybe.’

‘Is your wound still bothering you?’ Lissa demands.

‘N-no…’ _How convincing,_ Robin thinks to himself as soon as the denial leaves his mouth. It’s not quite a lie, either. It’s settled down a lot since they stopped walking and there isn’t a whole lot Lissa can do about it, even if he were to complain. She’s already healed his face once already, and there’s a limit to how much a heal staff can accomplish when it's already encouraged the wound to close.

‘It’s just the cold. Plegia has a far hotter climate than Ylisse,’ Frederick tells him after a reassuring word to Lissa. He’s stoking the fire while keeping a careful eye away on the unfortunate bear they’re roasting. ‘You come from a desert country, I’d be surprised if you were unbothered.’

‘Oh…’ Robin says meekly as watches the knight through the fire and how the heat distorts his face. Frederick hasn’t properly looked at him since they had walked away from that townsman, sans that one fiercely protectively glower of warning, when the knight had followed Chrom out into the trees to find food. Leaving Robin with Lissa, where she’d proceeded to tentatively attempt conversation. ‘Oh.’

‘Is the fire not enough?’ Chrom asks with some concern as he pauses in turning the bear’s leg, on the makeshift apparatus Robin constructed. He apologised earlier for what happened in town, quietly, after slowing to Robin’s speed, to give them a moment alone. Robin didn’t know why Chrom thought he had to and Robin didn’t want to ask.

‘...I’m fine,’ Robin offers. Frederick has provisions for the group, but it’s limited and without a blanket since they weren’t expecting to get waylaid and have to camp out. Robin may have forced himself to ask for one, if it existed, but they’d already had this conversation earlier.

‘You’re shivering,’ Chrom states with some objection.

‘Out of my skin,’ Robin agrees. There’s no denying it, even in the dim lighting. He’s sure that if they couldn’t see him, limited though their vision is right now anyway, they’d hear his bones rattling.

Chrom stares at Robin for a moment before he’s handing the makeshift handle off to Frederick, who’s unnerved with being responsible for the meat. He trudges around the campfire, breaking the lines which formed when they picked this secluded area to use as a bed, once it got too dark to continue down the road.

Frederick has been doing his best to keep his charges away from Robin, and Robin has been doing _his_ best not to aggravate the knight anymore than his presence already does. Lissa and Chrom seem to want to create some sort of camaraderie with him, Lissa because of curiosity and Chrom - Robin can’t hazard a guess. But they’re both so awkward with him after the confrontation at the town, that they’ve given Robin space.

Now, that distance vanishes. Chrom unlatches his cape and before Robin can protest, it’s being draped over his shoulders, along with Chrom’s arm after he drops down to the ground. It’s an instinctive reaction, for Robin’s body - tired and sore and _frozen,_ to sink into the support and warmth that’s suddenly up for the offer.

His brain, whatever logic’s left to him, is too slow to tell him off. Frederick’s startled hiss of  _“Milord”_ is what jolts Robin’s common sense to function. Chrom is a noble and even if he’s the one to initiate this, it can’t be proper. ‘It’s alright,’ Chrom reassures in response as Robin begins to shift, hand rubbing up and down Robin’s arm to generate more heat.

‘Sorry,’ Robin whispers as he relaxes again, too exhausted to fight when Chrom evidently doesn’t care. He can ruminate more on the appropriateness later, maybe. Now, he’s lost and hurting and maybe that doesn’t excuse the weakness he’s exhibiting but he just feels so beleaguered…

‘Let it go, Frederick,’ Chrom utters lowly. Robin opens his eyes, not entirely sure when he closed them to look up to the swordsman, ‘we owe Robin many thanks for his help today. His resting against me is little payment.’

‘Yeah, especially after the reaction he received,’ Lissa mutters. The reminder only serves to stiffen them all further. Leant into Chrom as Robin is, he can feel the almost-flinch and wonders about it, absent minded with sleep as he is.

‘Even so -’ Frederick begins to fuss.

‘The bear should be done, now, Frederick,’ Chrom cuts in.

Lissa bounces up, more frustrated than jovial as she goes to the wooden bowls that’d been pact onto Frederick’s house. ‘I can do it!’ Lissa announces. Robin closes his eyes again, feeling himself drift with the noises of the camp fading as his breathes begin to even.

* * *

‘Robin?’ he breathes in, awareness rushing back as a small hand gently rouses him. Green eyes are peering at him through blonde lashes and his mind scrambles for a name. Sleep, much to Robin’s annoyance, has done him no favours.

‘Lissa?’ the girl smiles but her brow is furrowed as she looks at him.

‘Food?’ she asks removing her hand from his person and gesturing to the bowl. There’s an awful crick in his neck as he straightens from where he’s half slumped over. The instant he’s up, blood rushes through him unpleasantly and dizziness is almost immediate.

‘Easy,’ Chrom says, squeezing him with an arm that’s wrapped around his waist. He’s close and it takes a moment for Robin to remember _why._ ‘You alright there?’

Robin doesn’t get a chance to respond before Lissa is pressing her forehead to his. ‘...he feels okay,’ she states after a minute of contemplation. It’s true enough, despite the aches and pains. He’s not as cold now, or as nauseous.

‘I’m fine,’ Robin says lightly, voice muffled from sleep. He sounds groggy but they’ll have expected that. He can’t have been out long, as unintentional as the nap was.

‘...the more you say that, the less convinced I am,’ Chrom snorts with wry humour.

‘I don’t mean to trouble you,’ Robin says.

‘It’s all part of the job,’ Chrom insists.

‘...as Shepherds?’ Robin asks though he’s seen enough to come to conclusions. Chrom shrugs his response. ‘Only people seem to be your flock and as armed as you are...someone must be funding you. So, either you're a militia or a band of mercenaries.’

Chrom freezes. ‘You’re mind...forgetful though it is, really is something else,’ he states some awe, much to Robin’s embarrassment. ‘You’re right enough, though I swear you’ve nothing to fear from us.’

‘As long as he does no harm,’ Frederick cuts in.

Robin looks over, past the tattered carcass of an animal they butchered. Frederick’s eyes are aglow from the fire and he remembers the townsman and his hysterics no one corrected. He moves out of Chrom’s warmth, despite how much colder it is without him. ‘Because my people bring nothing but death and misfortune?’ he quotes to his companions discomfort, feels how his lips curl into a sardonic smile and can’t care that it may be unkind.

‘...you did us a service by protecting our countrymen,’ Frederick admits, ‘but that doesn’t make you any less suspicious.’

‘We appear at an impasse, then, since you can’t believe me and I have no way to prove myself to you.’ Robin can’t help the bitterness at that. He thought he understood Frederick’s reservations but the more he’s discovering, the more disconcerting he finds it.

‘You claimed to approve of my discretion earlier.’

‘I did,’ Robin responds, and can’t help but use the past tense however much he doesn’t want to, ‘when I believed it was because of how implausible my circumstances were, and not because of the country that I hail from.’

Frederick’s eyes narrow. ‘I did not support the townsman and his hatred.’

‘You don’t really disapprove either, though. For all your reaction tells me his words were harsh and not one's you'd have picked...' Robin tries to swallow, finds he cannot, 'you have no love for Plegians either.'

‘Robin,’ Chrom says as he holds his hands up, ‘Ylisse and Plegia are...well, we’ve been in a cold war for years. Relations between us are… bad,’ he finishes lamely with an apologetic shrug.

Robin feels himself straighten.  _A cold_ war _?_ ‘...the - the bandits, would that not be cause for Ylisse to call for restitution or…’ he pauses, struggling for reason. Years on the brink of war and this antagonism isn’t enough to tip the edge? ‘You implied that they’ve been crossing the border for some time. If all that's true then why...’

Chrom sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Yes, well, our Exalt is desperate to try and find some semblance of peace with Plegia.’

Lissa sniffs, ‘it’s never going to happen,’ she states as she looks down at her offering as her free hand balls into a fist. ‘Since the Mad King took Plegia -’

‘Since _Gangrel_ took Plegia, _’_ Chrom corrects his sister with a grimace. She flushes and nods somewhat apologetic. ‘Since Gangrel, things have gotten...complicated. But, maybe we can talk about this later?’

‘It’s the political climate,’ Frederick states, ‘it’s not...personal.’

‘...Okay,’ Robin says hesitantly, uneasily. He chews on his lip as his eyes flicker from Frederick, to Lissa, to Chrom and can’t help how isolated he feels. How _personal_ his heart takes it, even while his brain attempts to rationalise it.

‘So! Food?’ Lissa offers with an anxious smile. Her voice draws Robin’s attentions. She shoves it under his face and it’s the smell that hits him first, unsettling his stomach as he looks down at it. It’s - stew, minus the vegetables. The colours are greys and browns from the meat and his belly begins to churn.

‘I…’ his throat is suddenly tight and he has to lean back. ‘Sorry. I - can’t.’

‘...why not?’ Lissa frowns but she does thankfully take a step back, lowering the bowl.

‘You really should eat something, Robin,’ Chrom cajoles softly. ‘Replenish your strength.’

‘I’m…’ Robin fumbles as he claws at his brain, attempting to hear what it’s screaming at him. ‘I can’t,’ he insists though he’s unsure why, only that he can’t. That he _shouldn’t._ Doesn’t want to.

‘...well, I suppose that answers that question,’ Frederick asserts, nodding. ‘Maybe reconsider giving that bowl to your brother, Lissa,’ he suggests. ‘Robin won’t eat meat. He’s a vegetarian.’

‘...what?’ Lissa asks automatically, confused but the word settles in Robin’s brain. _“Vegetarian”,_ it hums agreeably. _Yes, that’s right._ But that accord confuses Robin. _How does Frederick -?_ ‘Wait, what?’

‘Robin appears to be a Grimleal.’ Frederick doesn’t look Robin’s way but he stills feel like this is an accusation, an attack even as he clings to “Grimleal” like he had _vegetarian._ He’s not quite in the state to focus on both, so he pushes his thoughts away from his considerations. Instead, he gives the attention to Frederick. ‘The Grimleal do not eat meat.’

 _‘Frederick,’_ Chrom hisses, ‘why didn’t you tell us sooner? I would have foraged for nuts and berries.’

‘I did not want to assume,’ Frederick responds cooly.

Robin watches Frederick’s unrepentant attitude. Lissa hesitates, not sure what to do with herself. His eyes sting and he forces himself to laugh. It startles them. ‘Robin...I’m sorry, I didn’t know,’ Chrom says with regret.

‘How unnecessary,’ Robin says to Chrom because he has nothing to apologise for and then to Frederick, sharper, almost _nasty:_ ‘how _unnecessary.’_

Frederick knew from the start and not only had he not said anything, he’d done this deliberately. Robin can guess the knight’s motives but he wouldn’t _want to assume._ ‘You were testing me.’

‘...Not as such,’ Frederick denies but he _lies._

‘You were testing me,’ Robin says again. ‘What do you plan to do now you know you’re right? Since I’m a - Grimleal?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh? Then why bother at all?’

‘Are you attempting to start a fight?’

‘Why? Is that what a Grimleal would do?’  

 _‘You_ \- are becoming hysterical.’ Fredericks eyes narrow and Robin - Robin can’t help how his blood boils. His jaw clenches and thinks about how he’s conducted himself, how tall his back is, how tight his fists are curled, how glassy his vision is, how hot his cheeks feel. "Hysterical", is it?

‘Frederick! Enough,’ Chrom commands.

‘I am merely looking out for the safety of you and your sister, milord,’ Frederick states piously.

Robin doesn’t stand, doesn’t have the energy as he shakily removes both his tome and his sword and throws them towards the pile of Shepherd’s belongings. ‘There, now there’ll be no need for assumptions, hm?’

Frederick pauses at this but Chrom gets up.

‘Robin -’

‘No. Now the only threat to you is visual. I don’t mind,’ Robin interrupts with his heart in his throat. He edges further away, like Frederick wanted while keeping close to the fire. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Robin,’ Chrom tries again as he picks up Robin’s weapons. ‘You don’t need to do this.’

‘...why don’t you take care of them for me?’ Robin offers though he has no intentions of picking them up again. He doesn’t wait for a response and instead lies back on the ground, trying not to tremble, facing away from them and all their differences. ‘I’m tired. Wake me in the morning?’

‘...of course,’ Chrom says. ‘Good night, Robin.’

He’s cold, even if he’s still unintentionally wearing Chrom’s cape, but he can feel himself slipping almost instantly. ‘Tusbah ala khair,’ he responds because, though he did not originally recognise the difference, his language has not left him and that _matters._ And maybe - maybe in spite, as well.

* * *

Robin wakes to the world rocking. He’s up and on his feet immediately, acknowledges the Shepherds rousing around him wordlessly. ‘What’s happening?’ he asks. He takes a few steps away from the fire, as he looks to the forests, to the birds emerging into the sky; it’s dying but with how unsteady he is, he does not want to chance stumbling into it.

‘We’re not sure,’ Chrom says instantly, eyes sharp, ‘something is amiss.’

‘Milord -’ Frederick begins urgently but he never gets the chance to finish as the ground begins to shake more intensely. Robin finds himself stumbling, unable to keep his footing. Lissa screams.

‘Earthquake,’ Robin breathes.

Fear follows as he looks up, his ears catching onto a noise to his left. He squints, can’t tell what is causing the sounds or the distant moment before realisation hits. ‘Move,’ he says. ‘We have to move!’

Raising his voice seems to get them going. Frederick grabs at their things and Lissa goes for her staff and Chrom goes to his sister. The trees begin to collapse towards them and they don’t have time - but, Robin runs to untie Frederick’s house. The mount is staining against the reigns, and Robin almost gets brained when he undoes the knot tying the animal still. It runs instantly once it’s free, and Robin feels no remorse as it goes. Better to the wild than stuck and dead.

‘Robin!’ Chrom yells for him and Robin hurries after them. His heart has gone from steadily to thundering in minutes and his head is heavy. Heavy, like he’s about to tumble into a brush. He attempts to ignore it, allows Chrom to grab his hand, the one with his _bhakti,_ as he gets tugged into a sprint.

Robin trusts Chrom to guide him as they run, with Frederick clearing the way and Lissa on Chrom’s other side. He trusts, so he looks back and thinks he swallows his tongue. The trees aren’t falling, the very earth is cracking and lifting away. The sight, dim as it is - with the sun still having not broken over the horizon, is absolutely terrorising.

Then, fire erupts from the earth’s chasm. Its heat is a heavy presence, biting at their heels and altogether deadly. The soul of the Earth cashing after them. The smell is heady.

‘Baap re Baap!’ Robin yelps breathlessly as he crushes Chrom’s hand in his. _Oh Father!_

Liquid fire rushes for them, spitting blazing rocks in every direction. Robin cannot _begin_ to speculate what would happen should one hit them. The damage they would do...if the tsunami of plasma doesn’t get them first.

‘This way!’ Frederick screams, composure lost to the panic.

Robin holds onto Chrom tighter as they change direction. He looks forward. Sees them running around a lake of fire. So much fire. What has Robin woken up to? Chrom’s palms are rough and damp but it’s something to cling to.

The further they run, the more the trees thin. ‘We’re going to jump!’ Frederick calls. _Jump?_ Robin doesn’t have the chance to question it before Frederick disappears over the hedge of a brush. Then Lissa and then Chrom’s hand is pulling Robin down with him. The world spins and then he’s sliding, tumbling over grass and getting tied up in his cloak and Chrom’s cape.

He lands with a thump, on top of Chrom. One arm is bent under him and his head hits Chrom’s pauldron. Robin groans, moving carefully to glance up where he fell. The trees up the hill are silhouettes and the sky is glowing oranges and reds. Their catching their breath, Lissa aiding him to his feet so that Chrom can get up when he notices -

Participles, like millions of little stars begin to gather and then there’s a _flash._

* * *

The dead have risen and it's horrific. They outnumber the Shepherd’s and Robin three to one and with their inability to feel pain or tire, Robin’s worries aren’t unfounded. The suddenness of their arrival with how they fell out of the _sky_ like they’ve been summoned, caught them all off guard. Unfortunately, Robin forgets that he doesn’t have his weapons on his person until he's in striking distance.

His hand pats around his belt, where they should be, only to hit air. Robin scrambles backwards, but his luck must be truly _awful_ as he trips over a log and slams into the forest floor. His spine hits a large rock and he muffles a scream as something jagged cuts into him. He’s winded but this is _dire_ and he grapples to get back up; fails to do so before there is a rotting mass looming over him.

His voice fails him as demonic eyes stare down at him. They're glowing red and they show Robin how little it feels. Robin’s breathing hitches as the creature raises its axe with deadly intent. _No,_ Robin thinks, _I’m not ready. I’m not ready to die._

The creature slashes downwards. Robin flinches.

 _‘Robin!’_ Chrom screams.

 _Clang._ Metal hitting metal causes Robin’s eyes to snap back up to a figure clad in blue. For a moment, Robin mistakes them for Chrom but - no. They’re younger, with a slender figure and when they turn cheek, Robin sees that they are wearing a mask. They have Chrom's style of attire, though, with colours mostly blue and their cape, but, their skin - their skin is like Robin’s.

They’re wielding a sword, straining under the creature’s strength as the axe continues to try and meet its mark. ‘Help!’ they scream off to the side for assistance. Chrom is fast to give it, and when they both slice through the creature, it falls in a cloud of smoke. It’s eerie, but now is not the time to dwell on it.

‘Quite an entrance,’ Chrom states as the swordsman sheathes their sword. ‘What’s your name?’

The stranger is silent but there is other matters at hand. ‘Chrom!’ Robin clambers to his feet, tries to ignore how his back complains at the movement. He stumbles and Chrom almost drops his sword trying to catch Robin. _‘Focus!_ My weapons!’

Chrom’s eyes widen and he quickly retrieves the tome and sword from his belt. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think -’

‘Please, there are more of these things and we’re surrounded. Are these creatures commonplace here? Do you know their weaknesses?’ Robin demands quickly. It wasn’t Chrom’s intention to place Robin in danger, so he ignores the apology. If anything, it's Robin's own damned fault. ‘Chrom?’

‘No!’ Chrom refutes quickly. ‘No, of course not!’

Robin curses, doesn’t hear what language it’s in as he turns to the stranger. ‘Will you aid us?’

‘...yes,’ the strangers says.

Robin nods. ‘We need to get to Frederick and Lissa.’

‘Right.’

* * *

By the time they’ve destroyed the creatures, the sun has risen; indicating early morning and they’ve gained two other members to their party. During the fray, Robin was somehow talked into given direction again and he did well enough, even if he didn’t understand why people would follow him.

Sully and Virion -who were drawn to their position by the ruckus, are nice enough for as little interaction as they’ve had and both took commands well. Sully’s insanely strong and Virion’s aim with a bow is phenomenal. They’re both interesting characters; Sully with her place in the Shepherds and inaptitude at relying on others, and Virion and his accent and noble statue despite his nomad status.

Robin separated them into groups, with Frederick, Sully and Virion as one team and the stranger, Chrom and Robin as the other. Lissa, of course, was positioned in-between them, so that she could heal anyone who needed it but wasn’t at risk of enemy fire.

The stranger is proficient, trained and excellent at determining where they’re needed. They worked effortlessly between Chrom and Robin like they’ve been doing it all their lives, though they never had much to say.

Another fight over, and Lissa is fussing over him. ‘I really am fine,’ Robin insists for a third time as he examines one the creatures bodies.

‘Yeah, you know that word loses meaning when you've said it while bleeding all over the place, and while you're suffering hypothermia, Robin,’ Lissa retorts.

‘It’d _stopped,’_ Robin refutes, 'and I wasn't hypothermic.' 

‘That doesn’t mean it’s _healed,_ and you were shivering so hard I thought you were going to break something!'

'You're exaggerating.'

'Well, you're _under_ -exaggerating!'

Lissa cares and she’s sweet but Robin doesn’t want her wasting the power of her staff on anything trivial. Though it doesn’t seem to matter what he wants as the stranger walks over to offer their piece.

'I'm really -'

‘I think he injured his back,’ the stranger states.

Robin tries not to pout. _Traitor._

_‘Robin.’_

‘It barely hurts, now.’ The stranger huffs and Lissa readies her heal staff aggressively, like she’s holding off on _throwing_ it at him. ‘Eh...I never got the chance to thank you, did I?’

The stranger tilts their head but with so much of their face covered, it’s hard to identify their expression. ‘Koi baat nahi,’ they respond in his tongue - in _theirs_. “It’s no problem.”

‘Well, I appreciate it.’ Robin smiles grimly, but there’s a thrill there too, because this is not a bandit saying awful things. This is _communication_ and despite knowing he’d come close to death, if it wasn’t for the stranger, the interaction is almost worth it.

 _‘I’d_ appreciate it if you’d just tell me when you're hurting,’ Lissa mutters petulantly.

Robins sighs. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘So you keeping saying.’ Her staff glows green and pins and needles travel up and down Robin’s back until it’s numbed. It’s a relief, when the pain disappears, soothes. Robin sighs and feels the tension in his muscles unwind.

‘Thanks, Lissa,’ Robin says gratefully despite his reluctance.

‘Well,’ Lissa blushes as she looks away, ‘it’s what I’m here for.’

‘You’re very talented,’ Robin states as he turns the creature on its back. It's heavy and limb and its face lols in Robin’s direction. Robin touches its greying skin and tries to push down the disgust.

‘Robin…’ Lissa says uneasily, ‘what’re you doing, anyway?’

Robin looks up. ‘It’s morbid, but I wanted to see what these - creatures are. But…’ he hesitates as he looks back down, critically, at its mask. ‘But it's...human.’

‘Yes,’ the stranger says, grimly ‘they are.’

‘You know of them?’ Robin asks.

‘She came out of that portal thing! Didn’t you see?’ Lissa demands.

Robin blinks. That’s certainly unusual. ‘No, I was too busy panicking over why my sword wasn’t in its sheath.’ Though, it’s certainly an oversight, why he hadn’t wondered where the stranger had come from.

He looks towards the stranger and sees how they tense. ‘Do you...know of these things?’

Evidently, that’s not what they’d expected he ask. ‘No… well, not much,’ they admit. ‘They’re bodies of the fallen, resurrected. They die like any man but I wouldn’t waste time for anything but a killing blow.’

He’d known that much already, or at least guessed. ‘Right…’

‘Oh, and no not attempt to remove the mask. You’ll just pull off their face with it.’

‘...pardon?’

* * *

‘What’s going on here?’ Frederick demands as the Shepherds walk over. The group had left to check that the area was clear but with how fast these things moved, Robin’s not sure that they didn’t escape.

Still, Robin moves away from the body he was crouched over. His back protests and his knees begin to fail him when the stranger catches him and helps him back to his feet. 'Thank you,' he says before he turns to the knight. ‘I was just examining the creatures.’

‘Why?’ Frederick demands, like a condemnation.

‘Frederick.’ Chrom’s voice is stern, a telling off.  

‘Milord, you cannot say that this is circumstantial,’ Frederick asserts as he glares from Robin to plead with Chrom. ‘This Plegian vagabond wonders past borders, a _Grimleal_ no less, with no explanatory to how he got here and now we have inferi roaming the land!’

‘He was with us when it happened!’ Chrom argues.

‘Yeah!’ Lissa agrees. ‘And he almost died! _Again!’_

'You cannot think that Robin is responsible for this?' the stranger demands, fists curling at their sides. They sound young, then as they stared at Frederick. Robin's throat tightens. 

'It is the only thing that makes sense, the inferi -'

‘Inferi?’ Robin repeats numbly and looks back down to the creature. ‘These aren’t...these aren’t inferi.’ Inferi are cursed things, held together with whatever element had been used to resurrect them. These creatures were not that.

‘...you know an awful lot for someone without memory,’ Frederick accuses.

‘I - I don’t claim to know how it works!’ Robin answers. Bits and pieces slip back, admittedly, but he doesn’t _control it._ If he did, he’d have started with more pressing information.

‘I can! It doesn’t work because it’s not true!’ Frederick snaps.

‘Frederick, you don’t know that,’ Chrom tries to reason, but even he’s getting agitated. ‘He’s put himself at risk for us and at least saved myself, Lissa and Virion in battle. Why bother?’

‘To endear himself to you? To lure you into a false sense of security?’ Frederick suggests. Robin wants to scoff. Because, why? Why bother? ‘I cannot understand such treachery but you know since Gangrel -’

‘Frederick!’ Chrom snaps, ‘stop! If Emm heard you…’

‘Milord, please, he even has an accomplice!’ he gestures to the stranger who’s become frigid since this debate began. They haven’t reached for their sword yet, which is a surprise, since their on the receiving end of a pretty terrible attitude.

‘I don’t know this person,’ Robin gets out through gritted teeth.

‘If you have amnesia, how do you know?!’ Frederick sneers. ‘Two Plegian just _happened_ on the same battlefield?’

‘Not all Plegians know each other,’ the stranger says slowly, between measured breathes as they watch the group. ‘I fear your paranoia has blinded you. You see enemies where there are friends.’

‘Hold your tongue! If I am wrong then prove I am!’

‘Why? Are my words not enough?’

‘You are a Plegian on Ylisse soil.’

‘You are right to say that I have Plegian blood, however I have just as much Ylissean inside of me.' The stranger's voice is burning with outrage, lips pulling back into a snarl as they stare at Frederick, who pauses at the new information.

'...you're at least in your adolescence, you would have been born during for just before the...' Frederick trails off, face a mask of incredulity. 

The stranger inclines their head. 'My parents loved each other very much; more than others hated them and their relationship.' The words are pointed, sharp. 'But I don't suppose it matters what I say, I'm not to be trusted, correct?' 

'Your appearance is suspect,' Frederick says. 'You can through that portal with those creatures and you have not explained their - or your own sudden arrival.' 

'We have just finished the battle,' the stranger responds through gritted teeth, 'I have not had the opportunity to do more than clean my blade.' 

'Then? What is your explantation for your presence on Ylissean soil?' 

'...I thought you wanted to know  _how_ I came to be, not why. I have much right to be in this country as you do, sir knight. Do not misunderstand. This is my home.' 

'You are still -'

'You think that I automatically mean harm to our countrymen? For what? The colour of my skin?’ the stranger demands hotly after the short back and forth. ‘Just because Ylisse ravaged Plegian desserts and killed their forefathers does not mean I want to wreck the same devastation.'

'The Mad King says otherwise.' 

'The "Mad King" does not speak for all of Plegia or her children. Do not forgot how King Gangrel came to power. If not for Ylisse and their own ruler - one more fitting of that auspicious title than we would not be in this position.' 

Frederick’s arm spasms as if holding himself back from lashing out.

‘Please,’ Lissa insists.

‘Yes, _please_ ,’ Chrom says as the situation continues to spiral. ‘Peace, we’re...friends here, aren’t we?’

‘We do not even know this man’s name!’ Frederick refutes.

‘...you may call my Marth,’ the stranger states as Frederick gets very red in the face. The name means nothing to Robin but it certainly does to the Ylisseans.

‘How _dare_ -’

‘Marth,’ Chrom cuts in. ‘Thank you, for your help.’

‘Do not thank me, tonight was but a prelude.’

‘Is that a threat?’ Frederick demands.

‘Do not dare villainise me for a conflict with a people _yours_ created,’ Marth hisses, ‘do not think to know me. _Comepinga_.'

“Dick,” he spat and Robin nearly chokes on his saliva, successfully drawing attention to himself as he tries to clear his throat. If there’s an expectation that he translates _that_ then he’ll refuse.

'I have no explanations for you that will satisfy you,' Marth proclaims, 'and nothing from my mouth will change your mind. I do not have the time to argue with you. Though I hope you shall hear me through your ignorance and heed my warning. This is not the end.’

‘And this will clear your name?’ Frederick asks.

‘I do not expect it to,’ Marth states angrily and he take steps back, away from the rest of the group, away from Frederick. ‘I am leaving now.’

 _‘Milord,’_ Frederick protests but Chrom merely places a hand on Frederick’s shoulder. Marth takes that as permission to leave his back open to them, beginning to walk away, into the early morning. 

'Remember what I say, this is not over.' 

‘Thank you, again,’ Chrom says.

Marth doesn’t stop. ‘Shalom aleichem,’ he says as his cape flutters around his ankles. ‘Hamaare punah milane tak.’

 _Peace be with you,_ he said,  _until we meet again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Bigotry covers Chapter 1: Unwelcome Change and the Cutscene: Cataclysm.) 
> 
> So, yeah, apologies for Frederick. He has issues but he’s not being irrational with his concerns. Robin’s circumstances are suspicious as fuck. The Shepherds’ encounter a Plegian across their border near a town being raided and then later that night they’re basically ambushed by the end, obviously influenced by dark magic? But is the situation also really othering? yeah. Is his attitude professional? Not really. Is he being kinda racist? Not intentionally. Is he going too far? No question. Hopefully I got the tension and frustration right. I don’t know. 
> 
> The game never really dealt with Frederick and Robin’s relationship. You know of Frederick’s disapproval at the beginning but it’s never actually resolved. It goes without saying that it's also something I want to focus on in this story. 
> 
> Oh, and just to avoid confusion before she appears again. Lucina is biracial and shares her colouring with Robin because I love irony. She learnt Plegian in her childhood and she’s mostly fluent in it. Speaking it makes her feel kind of bitter but she spoke it to Frederick because he offended her. How and whys will be dealt with, but it's logical. 
> 
> I dunno about this chapter either, to be honest, I probably shouldn’t be writing at the minute. The depression's hit me hard. I just don’t have it in me to be critical, but hopefully this chapter’s okay.


	3. C is for “Clearance”

His cloak is, Robin comes to recall, a vestment. He feels safe in its embrace; with its blessings that will protect him from many offensive spells and curses, and draping figure concealing him from the many eyes that glare his way as he made his way through Ylisstol, the Capital of Ylisse.

The sleeves brush against his knuckles and the hood shrouds his face in shadows and that’s a comfort in hiding his embarrassment. Embarrassment at the attention he attracts, and then his familiarity with Chrom and Lissa when he learns who they are and the titles they bare.

No wonder Frederick’s been so protective; they’re no ordinary nobility. They're _royalty_. Why they didn’t just _correct_ him; the way he addressed them, he doesn’t understand. Would they have just allowed him to continue on in ignorance if they had not passed Exalt Emmeryn and her entourage as she travelled through, back to her the castle.

‘I’m very sorry,’ Robin repeats despite Chrom’s protects and Lissa’s loud objections, ‘I’ve been - I’ve been so improper. I meant no disrespect,’ he said in an awkward bow. His back felt stiff, unaccustomed to lowering itself to others.

Chrom’s hands clasped his shoulders and he straightened him, as Sully snickered somewhere behind them. ‘If it bothered us we’d have told you! We’re not - er…’

‘Stuck up,’ Sully inserts as she slaps Robin on the back. Sully and Virion, were informed of Robin’s status as soon as they returned to the road. Virion, a migrant himself, who’d applied to the Shepherds was good natured, if a little sharp, while Sully had nodded at Frederick’s wariness and then proceeded to treat him as she liked. Robin can’t tell what their attitudes mean for him. ‘They’re not stuck up.’

‘I…’ Robin hesitates, as he glances between the different Shepherds. Now would’ve actually been a good opportunity if Frederick hadn’t left them to have a word with the Castle Guard, about what occurred on their journey back. The knight would be a good indicator of respect.

‘Robin, you saved my life,’ Chrom says sincerely with a boyish grin, ‘even if I cared, I fear that’d entitle you some familiarity with me.’

‘Even so,’ Robin begins tentatively, ‘I’m not in a position to be behaving so...frivolously. I don’t want - my intentions to be misconstrued.’

Chrom’s expression falters. ‘...I don’t believe you have agenda, Robin.’

‘Well, I want to believe it too!’ Robin snaps and then almost bites his tongue. He’s shouted at Chrom before but the circumstance always allowed it to be socially acceptable, and that was before Robin discovered Chrom’s a _prince._ He doesn’t like his emotions getting the better of him, to allow control to slip.

‘Robin…’ Chrom says, stunned.

Robin breathes in sharply. Two days now, he’s spent with the Shepherds. Two days, it’s felt like he’s been alive as that’s all he can recall. During such time, he’s been told again and again how suspicious he is and how he cannot be trusted. And, however much the earth breathes fire and the dead come back to haunt them, the attack on his integrity is a harsher blow. Worser still, he can still say nothing in his own defence because his own logic dictates that these people are _right_ to be wary.  

He wants more than anything to prove them wrong, but how can he when he cannot recall his own mother’s face? Never mind why his motives for appearing on foreign soil right when a village was being attacked.

 _Who am I?_ is a stunning question that leaves Robin with nothing but fear and apprehension.

‘Milord,’ Robin says and the word tastes sour. Chrom doesn’t seem to like it all that much either. ‘I do not know who I am. _I do not know who I am._ And if I don’t, then how can you?’

Chrom’s face pinches with sympathy and the atmosphere around the group grows more serious. ‘You’re right. You’re right and you’re entitled to your caution, but, Robin,’ Chrom says emploring as his head ducks closer. His eyes are very blue and they’re incredibly intent, ‘as much of a stranger you are to yourself, you still risked life and limb for us and memory or no, an immoral man would not have done so.’

Robin's chest flares brightly at Chrom’s belief in him, but he pushes it down. He needs to be sensible. ‘I’d still advised...distance, milord.’

‘Why?’ Lissa pouts. ‘I thought you...I thought we could be friends.’

Robin looks around Ylisstol, where every moment they’re still, they attracted more and more attention. His distraction clues in the other’s and they straighten impeccably. Robin looks around at pale skin, and the colourful clothing and doesn’t have to seem himself to know the difference know.

His cloak is black for strength over adversity, purple for dignity and gold for wisdom and power. There is meaning and purpose in every thread. Grima’s Eyes decorating the lengths of his arms speak of protection and the more he remembers his robe, the more confused of the animosity it garners, but there’s no denying the negativity.

‘I have a feeling you know why better than I do,’ Robin says gently, if with a deep sense of caution.

Chrom’s mouth flattens further. ‘I don’t want to make you uncomfortable my pushing the subject,’ he states but it’s also somewhat of a deflection whether the prince meant it as such or not. He doesn’t divulge the information Robin’s after.

Robin takes a breath.

‘Then, we having nothing else to say, milord.’

It’s a silent walk up to the castle gates, after that.

* * *

Robin gave his weapons up to the Ylissean guard and allowed his person to be searched, without compliant. Virion walks off there as he’s led into a separate room to wait for Frederick to return. It's large, with a table to seat tens of people along its number in the centre of the room. There's a blue rug underneath that's wearing slightly in age. The large windows in the wall are panelled and pretty, if a safety risk, with two large tapestries on either side.

Their not waiting long and Sully keeps him company as Chrom and Lissa leave to speak to their sister, leaving him with promises of their return.

There’s a knock at the door that interrupts Robin and Sully’s debate on concealable weapons, and the knight stands to open it. Robin, remains where they’ve told him to sit, as non-threatening as possible. The door opens and Frederick enters stiffly, eyes gleam angrily. ‘You may stand for her Grace, the Exalt: Lady Emmeryn.’

Robin’s feels his eyes widen obscenely and fumbles to get his legs under him. He bows again and in the surprise, it’s somewhat easier as the women he saw earlier glides into the room. ‘Please, there’s no need for ceremony,’ Lady Emmeryn says kindly. ‘Seat yourself.’ Robin does so, heavily.

He looks up, sees her and vaguely notices Chrom and Lissa on either side of her shoulders as she sits herself opposite him. She’s as beautiful as before, sharing her colouring with her sister, but Lady Emmeryn has a calming presence her younger siblings lack, a serenity that they don’t process in their youthful bearing despite the age difference not being so large.

‘Your grace,’ Robin greets dumbly.

‘Robin, is it?’ Lady Emmeryn asks, if only to gain Robin’s preferred address. He nods silently, ‘I’ve heard that you’ve helped my brother and sister in their their patrols of the Halidom.’

Robin swallows. ‘I was merely there that the right time.’

One of her brows twitches but Lady Emmeryn’s face is largely still, however pleasant. ‘You offered your aid despite being detained and ill, yes?’

Robin could argue further but he doesn’t know what Lady Emmeryn wants; where she’s going with this. She has an ulterior motive. Robin can sense it. She may be magnanimous, but there is purpose to this women, intelligence, and Robin won’t lie to himself and say it doesn’t put him on edge. ‘...yes.’

‘My brother has spoken on your behalf, despite suspicions that you may have illegally entered the country,’ Lady Emmeryn states. Robin’s eyes flickers to Chrom without his consent. ‘He spoke well of you.’

‘He owes me nothing,’ Robin says stoutly. It isn’t in his favour and might even seem ungrateful but with how much chaos was surrounding the situation, it really isn’t appropriate for him to receive anything for his actions.

Lady Emmeryn hums. ‘We’d like to clear up this issue and move on,’ she says. ‘I would ask if you’re open to emptying your pockets for us?’

Robin may have a choice but it doesn’t deserve too much consideration. His stomach churns as he nods and drags his hands off of the table’s surface, where he's kept them for their peace of mind. He starts on the right, outside, and pulls one thing out of a time. A leather bound book, compass and rolled and crumpled map are pushed towards the royals. He ignores Frederick scrutiny. The inside pocket contains a parcel of writing tools.

Lady Emmeryn examines the compass; gold and of good quality and the map. There's nothing unusual about them. She looks over the parcel; leather, and inside, it holds a short pencil, a shaving knife, a few brushes and a quill and portable inc. Then she looks at the book, a journal.

Lady Emmeryn tilts her head. ‘May I?’

It’s inarguably the most personal item and Robin nods and watches as she pulls it closer. She treats it with care, her fingers sliding over the the decorative clasp delicately. She unbinds the book and opens it. Robin watches until he can’t anymore and instead listens as she flickers through the yellowing pages.

‘...It’s in Plegian,’ Lady Emmeryn states eventually and Robin breathes through his nose to conceal the panic, ‘I can understand some of it. Most, sound like prayers. I recognise a few sermons. There are some musings. A few recipes for tonics. It’s not a diary, but it has enough of you contained here to gather an idea of who you are.’

Robin looks up, and doesn’t know how to take Lady Emmeryn’s smile, the warmth that’s surrounding her, nor the sympathy her brother must have shared with her. ‘Then…’ Robin trails off, doesn’t know what words he wanted.

‘You sound kind; there is a great amount of consideration in these pages to your fellow men. The wording indicates that you may be a hierophant but that’s all I can tell for certain from your journal,’ Lady Emmeryn informs him and Robin is hopeless not to drink this information up. ‘Does this sound feasible?’

Robin knows the answer instantly, instinctively though he can bear no memories to assure his claim. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘I - that makes a great deal of sense.’ The bhakti in his lap sings to him and a name returns to his mind, not fully lost but misplaced, dislodged. _Grima,_ he thinks in relief, like something precious has been given to him, or a loved one has returned home. Grima; Patron Dragon of Plagia. Then, he snorts in grim amusement as something else becomes clear. Of course. It was right in front of him all this time, on Chrom’s upper arm and now, on Lady Emmeryn’s bare forehead.

‘What?’ Chrom asks, speaking for the first time since he’d returned.

‘No, it’s just…’ Robin glances to Lady Emmeryn, uncertainly.

‘Please,’ Lady Emmeryn says, ‘be free with your words.’

‘I really _am_ a heathen,’ Robin snorts. Plegia as Grima while Ylisse has Naga. ‘I didn’t understand right away, what the townsman was referring to. Though...I - I still don’t comprehend his vitriol. The Cold War you have with Plegia notwithstanding, what does our religions have to do with such a conflict?’

Lady Emmeryn’s expression tightens. She turns to regard her brother. ‘Was there an incident?’

Anger stirs in Chrom. ‘It wasn’t...severe. But - yes. After the battle in Yodall, a townsman reacted unkindly to seeing Robin. It didn’t get physical but I don’t know whether that was just because I was there.’

Lady Emmeryn closes her eyes for a moment, flickers of grief ageing her before she re-addresses Robin with regret. ‘I apologise sincerely for any untoward reactions, Robin. I understand that this may have been upsetting for you.’

 _Yes, it was,_ Robin wants to say but doesn’t. There’s something too compelling about Lady Emmeryn and he eats his own churlishness from his mouth. ‘I cannot say for certain, what I think. There’s too much missing,’ he says instead, which is still the truth.

‘Please, then, for now accept my apology.’

‘...of course, your grace,’ Robin says after a brief pause, uneasy of what he may be dismissing. ‘...there is still my left side for you to inspect, Lady Emmeryn.’

Lady Emmeryn nods and doesn’t force the issue further. Robin wishes she would; that _one_ of these people would cease stepping around whatever it is that is haunting them. Robin needs to know, _has_ to know what’s missing. ‘Of course. I give these back to your person.’

Robin collects his meagre belongings and stores them where he’d removed them from. The outside of his left pocket contains a waterskin. Pulling it out spills sand onto the floor and Robin feels his face heat, but Lady Emmeryn won’t hear of his apologies. It wasn’t a very interesting find, regardless. It’s empty now and filled the whole of the pocket.

He then went to the inside of his left pocket, and he pulled out a pouch filled with a limited number of coin and something that Robin cannot identify. The metal object fits into the palm of his hand, cubic in nature. ‘Robin?’ Lady Emmeryn prompts and Robin jolts.

‘Sorry,’ he says and puts it down on the table so Lady Emmeryn can pick it up.

She does so, fingertips lifting it up and turns it to see it from all angles. She looks at the tip and inhales a shocked gasp. ‘This is…’ Her gaze meets his and its undeniably sharper.

‘Milady?’ Frederick asks.

Lady Emmeryn lifts her arm to quiet the knight, _commands_ him and he goes silent. ‘Do you know what this is, Robin?’

‘...no?’ Robin says and feels his nerves rise anew.

Lady Emmeryn watches him for a moment, looking for dishonesty and then she inclines her head. ‘This is the Regna Ferox seal.’ She turns it so he can see the insignia that Robin managed to miss noticing.

‘...Regna Ferox?’ Robin repeats, quiet for a moment, ‘oh...your neighbours? How could I have that?’ Frederick had mentioned the country while discussing the implausibility of Robin’s legal entry.

‘A royal seal is usually given to a convoy or persons with documents sent to another country in good faith,’ Lady Emmeryn explains, eyes almost steely in thought, ‘it’s to officiate people and the papers they carry.’

Robin’s having difficulty swallowing. ‘...officiate?’

‘Quite.’ Lady Emmeryn pauses as she looks over the seal, all the air seemingly sucked out of the room. ‘Are your pockets empty?’  

Robin feels shaky, mind buzzing as he pats himself down. There’s a rustle on his left side. He goes to search through his inner pocket and pulls out a somewhat crushed letter, he'd missed. The scent of firewood and alcohol hit his nose and Robin can’t help how it wrinkles. He slides it over to Lady Emmeryn.

He’s sure he’s the only one who’s breath shutters as Lady Emmeryn opens the envelope and unfolds the letter, but as Robin meets Chrom’s gaze he knows he’s not alone in his surprise. Chrom tries to smile for him but Robin’s not sure what his face is doing in response.

‘Hmm...well, I have no doubt that Robin is legitimate,’ Lady Emmeryn announces eventually as she’s setting the letter down.

‘What?’ Robin blurts out alongside Frederick. He doesn’t bother with the knight, his attention focused on the Exalt. No one thought that he entered Ylisse legally. Even Chrom, for all his support couldn’t be sure. This wasn’t how he expected it to turn out.

‘You entered through Ferox’s border by word of their Khan. This paper demands an audience with me. He says that I should listen to what you need to say as a personal favour.’ Robin’s mouth dries. He’s desperate to read the letter but he doesn’t feel able to ask.

‘I…’

‘Do not remember,’ Lady Emmeryn finishes compassionately as Robin struggles. ‘This is quite concerning. If the Khan sought to send a representative to us then we need to know what matter was pressing enough to do so. Frederick.’

Frederick startles and moves forward. ‘Yes, milady?’

‘Prepare Phila, she is to be my messenger in this matter.’

‘Of course,’ he says, bowing before he leaves quickly.

Lady Emmeryn turns back to Robin while his brain struggles to keep up with what’s occurred. ‘Robin, again, as an Exalt, I thank you on behalf of my people. As a sister, I thank you on behalf of my younger brother and sister.’

Robin’s face reddens. ‘It was really no problem.’

‘I am gladdened that Chrom was able to find you,’ Lady Emmeryn says with a sweet smile. ‘Now, to assure you, you are welcome to stay with us while we sort this matter out with Ferox, but no matter what it is about, it will disrupt your place here.’

‘That’s...very generous of you,’ Robin murmurs demurely because what else can he say? ‘Thank you, your grace.’

Lady Emmeryn nods her acceptance. ‘I shall have your papers sorted for you, in the meantime.’ She begins to stand and Robin goes to follow. ‘I’m happy to meet you, Robin, and hope your stay in Ylisstol is a good one.’

‘I’m - I’m grateful for your welcome,’ Robin replies. Something in him settles in this turn of events even as more questions flood into his thoughts.

‘It’s the least we can do for you,’ Lady Emmeryn says with grace. ‘Do remember, that despite your current difficulties, that you are a Ferox representative.’

‘A Plegian hierophant Feroxian representative, is...a bit...of a mouthful, huh?’ He’s looking for a reassurance and its...juvenile, maybe, which is perhaps why he veers off at the last second.

‘It bares no matter,’ Lady Emmeryn states plainly. ‘You are what you are. I would like you to know that, though Ylissean is host to Naga’s blood and holds her and her ideals close, that anyone may practice any religion they want here and no matter how many titles they hold, however unusual, they are all held equal in Naga’s eyes. And in mine.’

Robin’s shoulders relax, didn’t even realise how tense they were.

‘I..do not properly remember it,’ Robin admits quietly, before he can stop himself. He shouldn’t have. This is an _Exalt._ He doesn’t even know why he’s allowed to talk with her. ‘Grima - I don’t…’

‘I am sure He will return to you,’ Lady Emmeryn says kindly and it’s not the first time Robin’s thought so. However, smart, she cares and that’s a rare and powerful thing in a leader. ‘If not....perhaps you may wish to look through our library.’

‘...really?’ It’s such a small thing with everything else he’s lost, all the days he’s lived, the people he’s met and the family who brought him into the world. But it’s important to him. The small things that have returned and become his again.

‘I believe Chrom would be happy to show you the way.’

 Chrom nods. ‘Of course,’ he says eagerly.

Robin breathes out shakily, grateful and raw and needing to sit and wanting to lie down. He bows and means it this time. ‘Thank you.’ He straightens, and stops when he sees the considering light that has entered Lady Emmeryn’s eyes

‘May I offer some well meaning advice, if unsolicited?’ Lady Emmeryn asks, tone weighted and if it wasn’t for that, he’d have answered readily. The suddenness and seriousness has Robin wavering.

‘...of course, milady,’ Robin says, anyway. They’ve been good to him so far and he owes them that much. He wouldn’t know how to deny, anyway.

‘Do take offense,’ Lady Emmeryn asks of him, which does nothing for the fluttering in his gut, ‘but it may be best that for the duration of your stay that you cover your tattoo.’

‘...my tattoo?’ Robin repeats.

Lady Emmeryn frowns and gestures to his hand. ‘I’m sorry, what do you call your mark?’

Robin feels his brow furrow and glances at the bold strokes of purple on the back of his hand. ‘My bhakti?’

‘Yes,’ Lady Emmeryn says instantly, ‘your bhakti.’

 _Tattoo?_ He thinks back because that’s - that’s not right, but he doesn’t want to focus on technicalities at the moment. ‘Why?’ he asks, perhaps too bluntly. Lady Emmeryn grimaces. ‘I’m not ashamed of it. ...should I be?’

‘No,’ Lady Emmeryn states without a doubt. Certain, so he’s not entirely offended even if he feels prangs of something resonating uneasily inside him. ‘Not for a second. Never allow anyone to make you ashamed of who you are or where you come from.’

Then it clicks, what Lady Emmeryn has been trying to say all this time; she may accept him, her family may accept him but she cannot guarantee anyone else will. Robin recalls her worry when the townsman was brought up, how she’d assumed the worst and he gets a sinking feeling. Dread is an all too familiar weight on his shoulders.

He wants to be able to say proudly: _I’m not, I won’t be._ But he doesn’t know how when he doesn’t honestly know what any of it means. ‘...gloves?’ he says finally. Shame tastes pungent. He does not like this concession but the greater part of him is afraid to go without it. ‘I...may have the money for that.’

Lady Emmeryn closes her eyes, her face as conflicted as Robin has seen it but then she smiles small, an apology. ‘Yes, that sounds…’ she stops, ‘do not worry about the money. We shall reimburse you your trouble.’

An intelligent woman who cares...

Regardless, Robin doesn’t want to be indebted to her, to allow them to think he wants things. However… ‘Thank you for your time.’

‘I wanted to meet the man who secured my siblings safe return and made such an impression on them,’ she dismisses out of hand. ‘Tasharafat bimuqabalatik.’ Robin stills in surprise. _“It was nice meeting you,”_ leaves Lady Emmeryn’s mouth. It’s accented and unpractised and Robin idly wonders how long it’s been since she last spoke it to someone. His language is a surprise to hear, even if he learnt she could read a bit, reading is very different to speaking.

He returns the sentiments candidly.

‘Chrom,’ Lady Emmeryn addresses, ‘I’ve called a Council meeting in light of what’s happened on your patrol. I’ll require you for a few hours for the primary discussion of what we know and what changes we’re going to implement. I’ll need you, so get any information from Robin and then meet me in the chambers if you will.’

‘...right,’ Chrom says but he sounds hesitant.

Lady Emmeryn smiles slyly, then. ‘Afterwards, you may return if Robin consents to your company. Perhaps you can show him the library.’ Robin blinks as he is mentioned, surprised that he’s apart of this discussion at all.

‘In the meantime!’ Lissa sings as she bounds around the large table, grabbing hold of Robin’s arm as she reaches him, ‘I want to take Robin back into the market! He needs some ointment for his face.’

‘You don’t need to do that, Princess,’ Robin says gently, to which Lissa pouts.

‘This is why I hate when people know I’m a princess! They get all shy. “Yes, Princess,” “No, Princess”, “Whatever you say, Princess”! Well, you _promised_ , Robin!’ She says rantingly, cheeks darkening as her eyes narrow.

Robin cringed at the oversight. He had at that. ‘...yes, right. Of course.’

‘We also need to get him to the healer, eventually,’ Chrom adds.

Robin barely notices as he thinks about how much money he has and by the weight of the bag, knows that it’s not going to be enough to support himself. ‘...Lady Emmeryn, I hesitate to ask -’

‘You’re not getting out of this, Robby!’ Lissa threatens as her fingers dig into his arm.  _Robby?_

He puts his hands up in surrender. ‘No, no, I’m not,’ he says as Lady Emmeryn watches on indulgently, ‘but, may I ask about accommodation?’

Lady Emmeryn blinks. ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘was I not clear enough? As a representative you shall stay with us. Do not worry over expenditure while you are with us, it shall be settled between Ylisse and Ferox.’

That...made Robin very uncomfortable, however much he may need the help. ‘Ah…’

‘I assure you, it’s common practice,’ she says, as if reading his mind.

Robin forces himself to calm. ‘Thank you.’

‘Think nothing of it. Now, I fear I have to leave you. I’m already terribly late. Chrom?’ The prince gets up with a nod.

‘You’ve told us all you know of those creatures?’ Chrom asks as Lady Emmeryn quickly leaves, swiftly but not harried. She keeps her composure well.

‘Yes,’ Robin says immediately. He’d already spoken at length about everything he’d learnt from his investigation and Marth sharing some of his own knowledge. It wasn't a lot but it was more than nothing. Chrom nods and walks to the door.

‘Lissa, be careful around the markets,’ Chrom says.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Lissa dismisses, ‘get a move on, you know how those old geezers get when you’re late.’

‘I mean it.’

‘So do I.’

Sully clears her throat and Robin almost startles. He’d forgotten she was there, having stayed in the room, keeping guard all this time. He’s so used to her being loud that when she’s quiet his brain tricked itself into forgetting she was there. If that’s deliberate, it speaks of a lot of skill. ‘I’ll keep an eye on ‘em, Captain.’

‘Thanks, Sully.’ Chrom sighs in relief. ‘I’ll see you all later, then.’

‘Shalom,’ Robin says in a chorus with Sully and Lissa, a quiet _goodbye,_ only for Chrom to turn back again, mid wave.

‘Library,’ dribbles out of Chrom’s mouth and then he cringes, cheeks blushing. ‘Afterwards. Maybe, after dinner.’

‘Of course,’ Robin replies, ‘I’d like that.’

Robin doesn’t get a moments breath before Lissa is turning to him with sparkling eyes. Her smile is large and sweet as she regards him. ‘So, I guess I have you to myself for a few hours, huh?’ 

Robin inclines his head. ‘I’ll be in your care.’ 

‘Let’s get to Forrest first,’ Lissa “suggests” as she takes hold of his hand. ‘He’s been teaching me since I decided to be a cleric. He’s the court healer and he’s really kind! I mean, he looks pretty tired. All the time, but -’

‘Princess,’ Robin interrupts, Lissa’s tugging him out of the room as Sully follows behind them. ‘Is he - will he be...amendable. With me?’ 

Lissa’s spine straightens as she looks over to him. ‘Yes. It’ll be fine.’ 

‘But -’

Lissa squeezes his hand, expression settling into something less joyful. ‘Robin,’ she says clearly, ‘Healer Forrest doesn’t care where his patients come from.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Sully inserts herself into this conversation, jovial smile in place even her eyes are grim. ‘Yer in good hands.’ 

‘...alright,’ Robin says, consenting to where he is being led. The apothecary was farther than Robin expected it to be, but with Lissa re-engaging him with her chatter there was enough distraction as his mind absently mapped the route. 

When they arrived, Lissa bounced forward, knocking on the door enthusiastically and waited impatiently for a voice to call them in. Opening the door and it’s the smell that hits Robin first; a musty, heavy thing. Floral and herbal, no doubt from the potions and tonics lined on the many shelves lining the walls. The size of the room was modest, though Robin could see what must be the treatment room behind the crack of the door hidden half behind the healer’s messy desk.

The healer, himself was peering through a large book, a pair of spectacles perliculously perched on the bridge of his crooked nose, poised on a stroll near a window the size of a shoe. Forrest appeared to be in his Late forties to early fifties; had seen the prime of his life and Robin didn’t think it’d been happy from the lines carved onto his face, deep crevices edged out from long nights and longer worries. 

‘Forrest!’ Lissa calls when he doesn’t acknowledge them straight away. Faded blue eyes glance at and slide over them with a quiet calculating gaze. ‘I brought you someone,’ she announces with a flourish, gesturing to Robin.

Forrest sighs as he closes his book with a sharp snap, straightening from how he’d been slumped over it. ‘You shouldn’t have,’ he replies as he stands slowly, almost cautiously. ‘Where’d you find this one, then?’

‘On the side of the road. He has amnesia and a few injuries from battle. I healed the cut on his nose and back but I thought you should examine him,’ Lissa explains as Forrest walks forward, around towers of books and trays of instruments. 

‘Amnesia, you say?’ His eyes speak of interest as his voice perks. ‘How much seems to be missing?’

There’s a pause before Lissa elbows him in the side and Robin jolts, not realising he was being addressed. ‘Oh, everything.’ 

‘...everything?’ Forrest repeats.

Lissa nods. ‘It was crazy! He didn’t even remember his name at first. He got there eventually when he tried to tell this really bad joke but - Forrest, he didn’t know where he was or where he came from.’ 

‘So it’s not just personal memories that have disappeared?’ Forrest ponders, ‘knowledge has as well.’

‘Yeah, he didn’t recognise what language he was speaking earlier. Some stuff - like his name, how to fight, comes back when it’s - prompted but otherwise...I don’t think his brain realises it’s forgotten.’

Forrest hums. ‘Post-traumatic amnesia wouldn’t cause that…’ he hesitates for a moment, and then readdresses Robin, ‘would you mind if I examined your head?’

Robin swallows thickly but shakes his head as he lightly bows in agreement. Aged fingers card through Robin’s hair, feeling around his skull from his front temples to the back of his neck before withdrawing. ‘Well...there’s no obvious physical damage there.’ 

Lissa glances between them, frowning. ‘I believe him,’ she insists as the silence stretches awkwardly. ‘And so does Chrom and - Emm found this seal. He’s a representative. He doesn’t have any reason to -’

Forrest holds up a hand to stop the barrage of words. ‘I did not think that he was being distrustful. However, knowledge of the world - from the studies I have read, did not disappear with the amnesia I have read about and with no sign of injury around his head, I would not be able to tell you how to treat this.’ 

‘So...there’s nothing that will help?’ Robin says quietly, heartrate increasing at this. 

Forrest shakes his head. ‘I never said that. Amnesia is hard to treat and although there is no _cure,_ there are treatments.’ He looks uneasy then, as he glances over to Lissa. ‘I am no expert though. Lissa, would you be willing to study this with me?’ 

‘Of course!’ Lissa exclaims immediately. ‘Robin helped us and I want to help him. I’ll pick up some books when we get back to the castle.’ 

Forrest raises an eyebrow. ‘Where are you going?’ 

‘The market. Robin needs a few things and it’ll be nice to show him a part of Ylisse that’s _not_ on fire.’

‘...forget I asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Clearance covers Chapter 1: Unwelcome Changes - After Screen Save.)
> 
> I am so tired. I've tried to proofread but I can't see straight. I'll go back over it when I can. I've gotten into the very bad habit now of stress writing onto Robin. He don't need this shit. He has enough cannon problems. 
> 
> Anyway! Hopefully this was okay. I feel like a broken record but what can I say? Anxiety. This was very nearly "creed" but I'm not there yet and I need the chapters to be manageable for me at the moment. 
> 
> Breaking away more from cannon here too, hope people like the changes. I promise I've thought about this. I dunno, the more you think about why Robin was in that the field the more of a contrivance it feels like. But maybe that's just me. It works well enough. 
> 
> More of a change to Emmeryn, though we see so little of her before she's returned from the dead to marry avatar-kun we don't really experience what she's like anyway? (sorry, that's mean, it just doesn't work for me. After the first few times I stopped recruiting her.) I have a spin on her character, I know, but hopefully people like it. 
> 
> I need to stop typing and go to fucking sleep. Sorry. Guess I'm trying to distract myself.


	4. D is for “Dogmatic”

Robin loves reading. As soon as he steps into the library and has a book in his hand, contentment settles in his bones. It’s a small thing, but every tidbit is special. Every morsel another piece into who he was.

Chrom picked a nice table corner for them, one that’s hidden behind a bookcase. There’s a fireplace and comfortable chairs pulled up to a sturdy table. He’s tired from the day in Sully and Lissa’s company, pulled in every direction as the young Princess took him on a tour. The meal and visit to the healer further exhausted him further, so when Chrom pulls him aside and shows him to this section of the library, he’s blinking back sleep.

He collapses into the seat Chrom pulls out for him. The padding under him is firm but comfortable and the leather is smooth, heated from the warmth of the fire. It’s still not enough for Robin to do without his cloak, but night is settling and even the castle cools. ‘You and Lissa were gone for awhile so I took the liberty to pull all the books I could find on Grima and the Grimleal,’ Chrom says as he takes the seat beside Robin’s own, gesturing to the scattered books, piled in decently sized stacks on the table.

‘I apologise, did we keep you waiting?

‘N-no! Not at all! I expected it, honestly. Lissa gets animated and once she’s on a roll there’s not a lot stopping her.’

‘Yes… I’d noticed.’

‘...I hope you weren’t - bothered,’ Chrom hedges, careful as he watches Robin, searching for something.

‘No, of course not.’ Robin’s honestly surprised Chrom would think such a thing.

‘Just, because I know how excitable she can get.’

‘Yes, but she’s also twice as kind.’ It’s not Robin’s place to take offence on Lissa’s behalf, especially not to Chrom, who clearly adores both his sisters, even if the dynamics of each relationship changes.

‘Yes,’ Chrom says and glances down to Robin’s hands, there’s relief in the lines of his face and Robin fancy’s that they may have suffered some unpleasant attitudes. ‘Yes, she is. Not everyone has...appreciated her.’

Robin can’t help but frown. ‘I am not ungrateful.’

‘I - I wasn’t suggesting…’

‘She was very kind and...shielded me from criticism.’

‘You didn’t mention any - “criticism” over dinner.

‘No,’ Robin sighs, because he didn’t particularly wanted to talk about that part of his day at all. Everyone within the market had treated him with suspicion. Mother’s pulled their children out of his path and some vendors stood outside the stalls, barring them from browsing their wears.  ‘I didn’t.’

‘...may I ask why?’

‘What good would it have done?’

‘Because it matters and we need to be told! It’s not right to be judged for your beliefs!’ Chrom snaps.

However unbalanced Robin’s feeling, he’s calm now even if his fingers are tingling, similar to Thoron’s aftershocks. ‘It’s not just for my beliefs, though is it.’ This is not a question. They both know that he’s missing something and the more it’s brought to his attention, the more he wants to demand answers. ‘It was handled.’

‘Handled.’ Chrom’s repetition is unimpressed.

‘Princess Lissa stepped in. She got - distressed, the Princess’ rising lack of tolerance made the woman begin to attack _her._ I’m unashamed to say I didn’t know how to handle the situation,’ Robin admits with guilt, because Lissa is so _young_ and Robin should have - done something, but he’d been so scared of agitating the situation and causing a lynching. ‘Sully’s attention returned to us by then and she broke it up before too much harm was done but.’ Robin shrugs hopelessly.

‘This woman had an issue with Lissa?’

‘Yes…’ Robin begins tentatively. In retrospect it’s surprising. At the time he just thought that the woman’s hatred of him became superimposed onto Lissa. ‘She said - how Princess Lissa was a disappointment, but that it hardly mattered since she…’

Chrom sighs, rubs his hands down face. ‘She mentioned how Lissa does not have a brand, didn’t she?’

‘Yes.’ Chrom expression becomes pinched. ‘I - don’t want to distract from your sister, but your bhakti…’

‘My what?’

‘Your brand?’ Chrom’s eyes light with understanding. ‘They are the mark of who you worship, are they not?’

‘Well, yes. I suppose so, but…’ Chrom hesitates before he’s shifting closer to Robin, their arms brush and he hardly minds. The fireplace is lovely but he won’t refuse added warmth. ‘Alright, let’s...perhaps start from the beginning?’

 _The beginning of what?_ is a might obtuse, though Robin is beginning to feel lost. ‘Of course.’

Chrom nods and a hand trails the blue of his skin on his exposed shoulder. ‘Back in the Days of Old, there were the first Dragons who held dominion over the land. There are ten known dragons and they held strengths that created the world we know today.’

Robin listens intently. _The First Dragons,_ he repeats internally.

‘Moro, the Astral Dragon played with space and gave us possibilities. Shaan, the Dawn Dragon brought light to the world and the Dusk Dragon, Vedika, brought the opposite. The elemental Dragons would rage with the weather and all was silent.’

‘If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ Robin says. Pretentious maybe, but then, humans often are.

Amusement crinkled Chrom’s eyes and he inclines his head in agreement. ‘Then Anankos, the Silent Dragon brought song and Naga and Grima rose from his wisdom. Naga...gave us life, created humans and - well, everything else. Grima, her very antithesis in nature -’

‘Gave meaning and purpose with mortality,’ Robin finishes unconsciously but they fit as soon as Robin hears them and _understands them._

‘That’s - yes, a perspective I hadn’t considered.’

‘...how did you consider him?’

‘I - I don’t want you to think me ignorant,’ Chrom confesses, ‘but he _is_ death, Robin.’

‘Yes?’

‘...death is painful.’

‘So is living. The world requires balance, Prince Chrom’ Robin says, because it _does._ Maybe it’s cultural differences that allows Robin to stay unflinching while Chrom shies away from this. ‘And if you find death cruel, then so too must you find life.’

‘...that’s true, it’s just...unfair.’

‘Only life can bring unfairness, death simply _is,’_ Robin refutes with some discomfort. This conversation could result in more than a disagreement, and Ylissaens have already proven to be violent towards any differences they encounter.

‘Do you not fear it?’

Robin opens his mouth and then closes it. Does he? The answer on his tongue is _no._ But - he’s so lost. ‘We aren’t here to have a theological debate; we’ve digressed, Milord.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ Chrom says on reflex as his brow folds. ‘...I’m sorry, where…’

‘The First Dragons,’ Robin prompts.

‘Right. Right, of course. The First Dragons built the lands and they spent their time with the creatures they created. Not all of them are - so benevolent, and caused many wars and conflict with desires to be worshiped. But eventually they had to leave their mortal shells.’

‘...the Time of Madness,’ Robin breathes with sudden clarity as a rush of information floods his mind, ‘over the years they’d begun to degenerate and started to lose their sense of self. Not all of them were quick enough or able.’

‘...yes,’ Chrom agrees in surprise. ‘Naga was one of the first to travel to their outside dimension.’

‘Right,’ Robin says. ‘And how does this relate to your brand?’

‘Sorry, I had to establish this information. Naga is the Creator, she brought life to all things. This is her insignia, and shows me to be of the Branded; her blood.’

Robin frowns as he considers his bhankti. Was this just a trait to Naga, then? Was his just a tattoo? A rite of passage for Grimleal? He dismisses these thoughts for later pondering. ‘And Princess Lissa?’

‘Was born of Exalt Lucille and is as much as Naga’s child as they rest of us.’

She just didn’t have Her brand. Hm. ‘I understand.’ And he _does._ ‘How do - I apologise, I’m prying.’

‘No...you’re curious,’ Chrom says patiently. ‘I would be too, if our positions were reversed. How did the people discover this news? My father was - an awful man.’

‘I’m sorry, I - what about -- how did Naga’s blood with your ancestor’s -’ Robin stumbles because this topic is steadily getting out of his hands.

‘Ah - I suppose what I’ve said can be quite unclear. I mean that she bestowed a blessing unto our family. The First Dragons had a lot of power, and so - they weren’t always dragons. Least, physically.’ Chrom’s blushing. ‘The Manaketes are direct descendants only they aren’t Branded. Simply share their form with the First Dragons. But they aren’t Blessed, like my family is.’

That’s actually a tad confusing. ‘A Manakete shares physicalities with the First Dragons and the Branded...?’

‘Well, it really depends on what Blessing Naga has breathed into us. It varies from person to person. We’re all studier and stronger than typical humans but for all we gained Her favour, we’re not family. We mortal as the rest of you.’

Robin hums. ‘How does one gain favour with a Goddess?’

‘Ah. I claim Hero King Marth as a forefather. And - well, I can go into more detail about King Marth, if you wish but as you’ve already mentioned our distractions once this evening already, I feel like I should probably say that you wanted to read.’

Hero King Marth...Robin thinks but - _‘You may call me Marth,’_ the stranger had said and Frederick bristled.

‘Yes, the conversation’s gotten away from us,’ Robin admits. ‘But the books will still be here, another time?’

‘You’re the only Plegian who’s arrived in Ylisstol. As far as we’re concerned, they’re yours.’

Minus the bandits and Plegians illegally entering the country. ‘That’s very generous of you.’

‘Please, it’s nothing.’

Robin hums and blinks tiredly at Chrom. Maybe Ylisse really has no use for these books, maybe it’s okay to allow himself to disregard this, but something tells him not to.  

‘...You mentioned earlier, but you found some gloves?’ Chrom says and it takes a moment, but Robin suspects the man is deflecting.

Robin glances at them. Dark brown leather, tough enough to offer some protection but light and flexible and able to conduct magic. They’re good quality but he can’t help but dislike them and what they represent. ‘...yes. Princess Lissa chose them. I’m...sorry. I didn’t intend -’

‘Emm said earlier that we would get them for you. I...I wouldn’t have asked this of you, honestly.’ Chrom swallows and reaches out to take his hand, and regards it strangely. ‘You shouldn’t have to hide this part of yourself.’

Robin’s hand spasms around Chrom’s fingers. ‘I...don’t blame Exalt Emmeryn.’

‘...no. Thank you. It’s not her fault, but we are accountable.’

‘You can be accountable without being responsible.’

Chrom takes a breath and lets Robin go. ‘I’m sorry, I’m being too - free, with you. I just wish to help you.’

Still, Robin’s surprised by the effort on his behalf, unsure what to say. He pulls a hardback book from a pile closet too him. Grima’s Eye is indented onto the cover with no text, not even an author’s name. He looks up to Chrom he is watching, caught in the light of the fire, filtered through the embers. _I don’t know what to say,_ he thinks. ‘Are you sure you wish to spend your time this way, Prince Chrom?’ he says instead, ‘I’m sure - won’t you become...bored?’

Chrom’s expression falters for a moment. ‘No,’ he responds eventually and takes a book for himself. ‘Ylisse and Plegia, before the conflict between us grew, were closely allied. It was common practice for generations that customs and language be shared. Emm’s had most of her lessons but mine were stopped before they could properly begin. I would like to learn.’

‘I am grateful to hear so,’ Robin says as he cracks open the book resting in his palms. He doesn’t look away from Chrom through, as the prince begins to flick through the book.

‘Ah...it’s written in Plegian.’ Robin leans over his chair and rests again Chrom’s shoulder to look at the text. It’s obviously the Plegian alphabet, written by a Plegian hand. It’s surprise though not one Robin thought about when Lady Emmeryn mentioned a library.

‘...why?’

‘Ah...these are some of the original texts from Grimleal that lived here before... the conflict,’ Chrom states delicately, with some difficulty. ‘I should have realised… Very few Grimleal writings were saved. Most were burnt so the ones that were hidden…’

Robin feels himself swallow. _Purge,_ he thinks and doesn’t know why. ‘Where did you get these?’

‘I…talked to the records keeper,’ Chrom admits. ‘Her Father pulled them out of the public library - the older ones anyway, and took them home. When the war ended the records keeper brought them to the castle.’

 _War?_ Robin repeats, stomach clenching. _The townsman - the “Holy Crusade”, he said. Oh. Oh no._ A cold war is one thing but… if actual battle has taken place between their countries, then maybe that explains everyone’s reactions towards him.

‘There were more,’ Chrom says as he looks up to meet Robin’s eyes. He brushes a thumb across Robin’s cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn’t felt fall. ‘I’m sorry.’

Chrom keeps apologising and Robin needs to know why. There’s a responsibility that Chrom carries, along with his sister. Something that weighs them down and makes them look at him with such sadness. Sadness and something else he can’t identify.

Robin puts the book down on the table and takes Chrom’s. He looks past an index page, starting instead on the author’s notes. The script in familiar, form impeccable. ‘I can read this to you,’ Robin offers after attempting to clear his throat.

‘...I’d like that,’ Chrom says.  

* * *

‘And this is your room,’ Chrom says as he opens the door softly, and steps in with the torchlight illuminating the shadows. Room pauses under the doorframe, as he looks over the window panes and the double bed with an elaborate awning. There’s a wardrobe and a metal bathtub with a screen, a fireplace with chairs and a chamberpot. It’s - too much.

‘Are you sure?’ Robin asks as he hesitantly steps into the room.

Chrom smiles awkwardly. ‘Yes, this is a room we used for visiting foreign dignitaries. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.’

Robin’s eyebrows raise in shock. ‘Ah...thank you.’

‘It’s no problem,’ Chrom says with a small shrug. ‘There are guards stationed in this wing of the castle.  Three women and two men. They don’t change until morning and they shouldn’t bother you. If someone visits you in the middle of the night outside someone you’ve already met then…’

Robin’s stomach flops. ‘Is that likely to happen?’

‘No, it shouldn’t, but we thought we should cover all our bases. Ask who’s calling for you. If it’s Lissa or Sully, even Frederick, they’re safe for you to allow entry if you want to, I swear it. Anyone else and - well, I’ll trust that you’ll react accordingly,’ Chrom states with far too much faith. Where does he keep it all? Robin feel barren of any sort of hope. ‘If you hear any commotion, ready your weapons and wait.’

They’d returned his weapons to him when they left for the markets, and he’d been allowed to keep them once they returned. Their weight hanging on his belt allows him a measure of reassurance but it’s not without its disadvantage when people look at him, and see he’s armed and then take him for a threat.

‘And if I hear that someone else requires aid?’ Robin asks.

‘Then we trust you with that too.’

‘...you place a lot of trust in people that may not deserve it.’

‘Robin…’ Chrom steps closer, eliminates the distance between them. Stood near toe to toe, Chrom is only inches taller. It’s a surprise because he feels so much _bigger._ ‘You’ve done nothing to concern us. What you are isn’t enough when who you’ve shown yourself to be tells us so much more.’

Robin feels his cheeks heat. ‘You’re awfully quick to judge my character.’

‘ _You_ were awfully quick to judge us and think us worthy of putting your life endanger for us.’ Chrom places a hand on Robin’s shoulder. It’s a familiar gesture. Chrom seems to be very tactile. ‘Robin, I’m the Captain of a militia, like you thought. Ylisse’s one proper defense. Our army was demolished in the war because even if we had the coin to funds to rebuild, no citizen would offer their services. Very few men do now. Not so soon after the war. But you did, for a country that’s not your own.’

‘You seem to forget that I have no proper understanding of what is and isn’t my country.’

‘Maybe consciously,’ Chrom allows, ‘but I think your heart recalls more, even if you don’t always understand what it’s trying to tell you.’

‘Knowledge without reason is taught ignorance,’ Robin says. ‘You may not see it, but I’m danger just waiting to happen.’

‘I think you see enough for the both of us.’

‘One day this attitude is going to get you killed.’

‘Perhaps. Now, we had the linen changed to our winter thread, and we also had some blankets brought in for you. Is there anything else you can think of that you’ll need?’

 _You’re a fool,_ Robin wants to say but doesn’t. It’s unkind, even if it’s true. ‘I - I don’t want to be a bother.’

‘Robin, I was the one who asked.’

‘...I - I don’t recall the last time I bathed and…’ Robin hesitates but Chrom’s smile is encouraging, ‘I smell like a furnace.’ His skin feels like there’s a layer of grime on it and thinking about rolling in the covers like this makes him feel slightly ill

Chrom laughs. ‘Frederick dragged me into one before dinner,’ he admits easily as he lets his hand fall and goes to poke his head out the door. He gets the attention of one of the guards they passed and after a brief conversation, Chrom closes the door again. ‘It shouldn’t be a quarter of an hour.’

Robin frowns. ‘A...what?’

‘Er...fifteen minutes?’

‘Oh.’

‘Sorry.’ Chrom rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. ‘You’re just so fluent…’

‘But not native.’

‘Certainly fooled me,’ Chrom laughs as he takes a seat on one of the chairs by the fireplace. ‘Sit down, you look like you’re about to fall over.’

Robin walks over. His footsteps sound too loud. He sits on the edge of the chair. ‘You do not have to force yourself to wait on me like this, Prince Chrom,’ he states eventually, ‘it’s late and you’ll probably have things to do tomorrow.’

‘I do, but you’re our guest and I feel we haven’t treated you like we should. Unless you don’t want my company, I -’ there’s a knock at his door and they both stand. Chrom goes to the door and opens it for a maid, who flushes under their attention. After a brief bow, she scuttles into the room with a large trough of steaming water that she pours into the tub without asking any help. Once she’s bowed again, she’s gone like she was never here.

‘Well,’ Chrom says. 'That was quick.'

Robin huffs and pulls off a glove to feel the water. It’s hot, bordering on searing with how cold his skin is. Robin finds that enjoys the sting. He jolts though, when Chrom moves the screens, to cover the seating area.

‘Are...you staying?’ Robin asks.

‘I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. It’s just - you seemed unsteady enough when we entered the capital. I don’t wish for someone to find you face down in the morn.’

Robin thinks how he sways when he stands and how his eyes skipped every now and then, even when he tried to focus. Instead of answering, Robin begins to de-robe. Starting with his weapons and then his belt. Reluctantly he shrugs his cloak off next and throws it over the top of the screens. He takes a breath once it’s off to look over his arms. There’s healing bruises up and down them and when he flexes, they complain.

His shirt is next, and then he unties his tasset. Boots come off with some difficulty and he hisses when his bare feet touch the cool stone floor. ‘You alright?’ Chrom calls with some concern as Robin hurriedly does away with his trousers and underwear to scamper into the the bath.

‘Y-yes. Just. It’s cold,’ Robin stutters as he toes the water. He shivers instantly, as his feet complain but Robin isn’t in the mood for listening as he all but jumps in. The water slushes perilously around the edges of the tub. He sucks in a breath as his body goes into shock at the sudden temperature change.

His muscles bunch but he forces himself to relax as his hands rub up and down his arms. His back is prickling with pain, but the healer said he was allowed to get it wet if he continued to put the cream on it, though his face is another story. Too deep and too sensitive, he had to wait until it healed more before he cleaned more than the surrounding area.

The heat of the water is near stifling but it also feels right; like this is how it should be, and Robin wonders if the desert is like this. He wants to know. _I want to go home,_ Robin thinks and he feels awful for it. His throat tightens and he feels ill with a homesickness he shouldn’t experience; not for somewhere he doesn’t remember.

‘Today,’ Robin begins falteringly, it sounds strangled but he needs something but his own mind to listen to, ‘today, was it what you were expecting?’

‘...expecting for what?’ Chrom asks slowly.

‘The Grimleal text, was it what you thought it would be?’

‘No,’ Chrom says. ‘I’ve never - I don’t think any less of the Grimleal than I do for those who will worship Naga. But, I probably absorbed more of the anti-Plegian propaganda than I realised.’

‘During the war?’

‘...yes. I was young at the time, a lot of us were, but that’s really no excuse. They’d - they’d talk about the Grimleal like you wished for our destruction. That your beliefs were inherently dark. Grima is the dragon of death, after all, so we assumed that’s what you wanted too.’

'But that's not the case.'

'No. The texts - even that one book, was really eye opening. It focused more on...on celebrating life and how to treat your fellow man.'

'And...'

'And I understand now why they burnt the books first,' Chrom says and his voice is angry, 'it's so there would be no evidence to their lies.'

‘But you thought differently, so why you are sympathetic to us?’

‘Well...you’re right. Death isn’t the only thing that’s cruel. Not all of Naga’s teachings I agree with either, but...you’re right, that’s not why I care.’

‘Then why do you?’

‘Because it’s impossible _not_ to when someone innocent is hurting.’

Robin catches his own reflection and it takes a moment to recognise the eyes that he’s looking at are his. The sclera are bloodshot and the iris is red. He’s seen so many people to day but none of them had red eyes. Red eyes and white eyelashes that matches his hair. He wonders if these differences were enough to disenfranchise his people.

‘I’m sorry, every conversation we have seems serious and...accusatory,’ Robin says as he touches a strand of his hair. It feels overgrown, like he hasn’t been able to cut it in awhile, as it hangs around his face. He feels the back brushing against the edge of his shoulders. _This...is what I look like?_

‘And yet you seem to keep apologising.’

‘I don’t seem to be the only one,’ Robin retorts as he inches back to delicately dunk his hair in the water. He smooths it back, off of his forehead and cheeks and makes sure he’s got it all before he rights himself.

‘How about we call a truce for now?’ Chrom suggests.

 _For now,_ Chrom says because they both know this is leading somewhere. The question of why they were at war is burning his tongue. ‘Sounds like a challenge.’

Chrom laughs but it sounds uneven. ‘How’re you liking the water?’

‘I don’t want to get out,’ Robin replies mock seriously and only half means it. It’s so cold outside of it and he knows he could easily fall asleep inside it, but he can’t keep Chrom waiting too long. His hand skims down and over his body. It’s strange. He has callouses he doesn’t remember earning, scars he can’t recall surviving. His Bhakti shines in the water and seeing Grima’s symbol gives him some strength not to dwell on it.

Once he feels cleaner, Robin forces himself to stand. The air, now freezing, attacks him instantly and he clenches his jaw to stop his teeth from clattering as he reaches for a towel to dry himself.

‘There’s nightwear, I’ll sling it over the screen for you,’ Chrom says. It’s a long nightshirt. It’s - odd, but it feels soft and the material's thick. He goes to put it on when his back tugs, skin pulling unnaturally.

‘Ah…’

‘...what is it?’

‘I just forgot something,’ Robin says as he puts the nightshirt back on the screen to avoid getting it wet and tugs his cloak down. Rummaging through his pockets he finds the ointment he was given. He opens the lid and dips his fingers inside. He grunts as he tries to reach to the puckered wound, low on his back and finds he can’t no matter how he stretches.

‘Robin?’

‘...I may require assistance,’ Robin admits as he smears what he has on his fingers across the angry slash on his face. He picks up his towel and wraps it around himself.

‘Oh? Sure, what do you need?’

Robin steps out from behind the screen, keeps his eyes on the floor as he hands the pot to Chrom. ‘I can’t reach,’ he says.

‘Ah.’ Chrom clears his throat. ‘Where?’ Robin turns around and lowers the towel to present the wound. ‘...you fought with this?’

‘Better fighting with it than dying with it.’

Chrom sighs, ‘we’re going to have to talk about you self-preservation,’ but he obliges Robin and gently applies the cream. As soon as he’s done, Robin retreats and gets dressed, quickly scrambles into the nightshirt. His skin is still damp so the settles the cotton on his figure.

‘It fit okay?’

Robin steps out of the screen and Chrom’s expression falters for a moment. He probably looks ridiculous with how the material is sticking to him and with his hair plastered to his skin. He probably looks... ‘Yes - I… may I ask you question?’

Chrom eyes seem rather fixed on Robin’s face, face quite pink but he nods. ‘Of course, Robin.’

‘Do I...look normal?’

‘Normal?’ Chrom blinks.

‘For a Plegian?’

‘Oh. _Oh._ Well, tan skin is very common,’ Chrom offers walking up to Robin and taking his marked hand. ‘Your...Bhakti, though different, were also on many Grimleal.’ His free hand raises to brush some strands of hair that had fallen back into Robin's eyes. ‘Your hair colour, too. White and black are quite typical.’

Robin swallows against the beating of his heart. ‘My - my eyes...?’

‘They’re admittedly...unusual, but not unheard of. For Plegians, brown and their variants are most natural. Hazel, ember…’

‘Oh…’

‘Robin, if I may,’ Chrom says as he tilts Robin’s face back up so they’re looking eye to eye, ‘you have nothing to be ashamed of. If you believe nothing else, believe that. You look - I think I’ve heard Lissa saying you’re quite lovely, and I’ve been told to listen to her about such things. Besides that, you’re very intelligent and a capable fighter.’

Chrom looks as embarrassed as Robin as they separate. ‘I - I feel vain just listening to you,’ Robin laughs awkwardly in more attempt to cut some of the tension between them.

Chrom’s expression clears into something more critical. ‘I don’t think anyone would accuse you of that.’

‘I suppose they’ll be preoccupied.’

‘Robin…’

Robin shakes his head. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘I disagree.’

‘Well...we seem to be doing a lot of that,’ Robin says but clears his throat and gestures to the decorative furniture . ‘Time for bed.’

‘Yes, I’ve taken up enough of your night.’

‘I could say the same.’

Chrom laughs. ‘Always to the contrary.’

‘Alas I admit it.’

‘Good night, Robin.’ Chrom smiles with some amusement.

‘Good night, Prince Chrom.’

* * *

Robin wakes disoriented, head pounding with a headache, whispers of a nightmare on the cusp of his consciousness. Someone had been calling to him, with a voice he’s sure he’s heard before, but that’s not a comfort. Something about them - is foreboding. Caused his hair to stand up on end.

Light is shining through the windows and he shifts from the nest of blankets he’s buried himself in the night before. He sniffles, eyes feeling grainy from the tears he’s shed. He’s sore and tired and wondering why he’s awake, when there’s another brisk knock on the door.

Robin goes to call out but then hesitates when he remembers what Chrom said to him last night, a warning loud and clear. He uncovers himself and stands to feel less of a target. ‘Yes?’ His voice croaks, dry and thick from sleep.

‘Robin? You’re being called for breakfast,’ says Frederick’s unmistakable voice.

Robin swallows. The bed is calling to him and he’d much rather go back to sleep, but he can’t refuse an invitation. ‘One moment.’ He dresses quickly and after smoothing his fingers through his hair to make sure it’s in some order and laying flat, opens the door.

The surly knight’s expression is inscrutable but his eyes give him away. He does not wish for Robin to be here, seal or no seal. And - that’s fine. Frederick walks on and Robin follows, ensuring there’s space between them as he is deposited into the room he’d eaten dinner.

Exalt Emmeryn, Chrom and Lissa are already seated but they’re obviously waiting for him. He hurries to the table. In the corner of his eye he thinks he sees a maid step forward but he pulls out his own chair and seats himself. As soon as he’s settled a bowl is in front of him, the other’s start on their breakfast.

‘Good morning, Robin,’ Lady Emmeryn says with a pleasant smile though she appears tired.

‘Good morning, Your Grace.’

‘Though we may have woken you, I wished to tell you that Phila, my most trusted advisor, left with the first light of the sun. It shouldn’t take long for her to reach Regna Ferox.’

‘Ah...and - how long, exactly, Your Grace?’

‘By foot it would roughly take a fortnight. But Phila is an accomplished pegasus knight, so she should return to us in a day. Two at most,’ Lady Emmeryn explains.

Robin can’t help but sigh in relief and begins to eat. Lady Emmeryn is the first to finish and leave to attend to her duties, wishing them all a good day as she goes. Lissa is next and she’s bouncing with energy though Chrom is a lot more sedate, Robin is the last to finish.

‘We were thinking,’ Lissa begins.

‘If you have nothing else you’d rather do, would you like to meet the other Shepherds?’ Chrom asks.

‘That would be nice,’ Robin agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Dogmatic is set between Chapter 1: Unwelcome Changes and Chapter 2: Shepherds)
> 
> I don't think Robin's butt cape is actually a tasset in the traditional sense. But I can't see Robin calling it a "butt cape". If anyone knows a word for it that'd be helpful.
> 
> Sorry about this. This chapter really got away from me. I was meant to be introducing the Shepherds in this chapter, I think, but it's just not going to happen. I went more into the Grimleal here, so Robin now knows more about them and their text. I'm not smart enough to write a religious text myself so I've just - hinted at it? I don't know.


	5. E is for “Exhaustion”

The Barracks are a mess, Robin would call them historic if they weren’t so obviously in use. Half of the space is being used for storage and it’s obvious no one’s really looked after it in some time.

There’s a map of the continent on wall and many writings slapped haphazardly on the stone. There’s a table and a lot of seating, but it’s mainly boxes, crates and barrels that the Shepherds are mulling around. On their arrival, Chrom greets them familiarly as Lissa drags him in and Frederick follows up the rear.

His entrance causes conversations to stop. Silence is instant and it’s hard not to find that intimidating. ‘Everyone! This is Robin,’ Chrom introduces as he places his hand on Robin’s back to guide him forward. ‘He’s the warrior who helped against the Risen and also a representative from Regna Ferox so, er, be polite.’

No one moves. Robin swallows and thinks the whole room can hear it. He lowers hood. He’s been told, in his ear by Frederick, that it’s more social and actually quite rude in front of royalty to keep it up. ‘...Risen?’

Chrom’s expression grows dark. ‘I’d hoped to speak of this later.’

‘Right.’ Robin blinks and turns back to the Shepherds. ‘Greetings.’

‘Don’t be so stiff, Robin!’ Lissa chides. ‘They’re gonna get the wrong impression of you!  

‘And what impression is that, exactly?’ Robin asks.

‘That you don’t like them!’

‘Well, we can’t have that,’ Robin says in jest but he tries a more enthusiastic smile. ‘It’s nice to meet everyone!’

‘No! Be more natural!’

Robin’s face deadpans. ‘Natural?’

‘Just - put yourself into it more.’ Lissa’s obviously struggling here and no one else seems to want to step in.

‘Namasthae,’ he says with a partial bow, low and easy. It doesn’t feel quite right but he knows it’s a common enough greeting in his language.

Chrom snorts and Lissa elbows him in the gut. She’s stronger than she looks and he tries not to stagger too much in reaction, though his stomach smarts. Seeing as though Robin had witnessed Chrom accidentally break a door frame on the way over, unnatural strength must run in the family.

‘That’s not what I meant!’

‘Oh? But you said to be more natural,’ Robin comments but checks himself at the incredulous expressions he’s getting. He’s over stepping, and he almost wants to kick himself. ‘Eh...Princess?’

Lissa scowls. ‘You had it right the first time!’ she says, ‘and there’s no saving this conversation anyway! Now everyone can see you as you really are. Smart Alec!’ Robin looks up at Chrom for help but there’s no sympathy there. In fact, the prince is looking pretty pink.

‘Didn’t think you had it in you, honestly,’ Chrom snickers before trying for something supportive, ‘definitely more - natural.’

‘...you could pretend that you’re not busting a gut to keep from laughing.’ Robin very nearly crosses his arms but prevents it.

‘I’m the picture of seriousness.’

‘Really.’

Chrom exhales heartily, and laughter follows. ‘she’s not wrong, though.’ He chuckles, eyes dancing as colour floods his face. ‘So, there’s fire in there off of the battlefield!’

‘Not quite,’ Robin says as he pats Thoron, which ends up setting Lissa off. Fantastic. He’s annoyed but he can’t help how the amusement starts to spread. He pushes it down.

‘Aw, look at how scrowly he is!’ Lissa giggles.

‘Truly, no one begrudges you your wit.’

Robin takes a breath and keeps his maligned expression to himself. Frederick would probably use it as an excuse to stab him. _No,_ he thinks, _don’t be uncharitable._ ‘Hello, my name is Robin - I honestly can’t think of a way to save this introduction. Can someone please put me out of my misery.’  

Sully laughs, full bellied and unfiltered. ‘No need to strain somethin’ there, we don’t bite.’

Sully, a cavalier who’s brash and tough but with hidden wisdom is bright and unapologetic. She’s straightforward and likes people that way too. ‘You cut one of those creatures in half the other night. And while in town you punched that street harasser in the throat.’

‘She punched someone in the throat?!’ Chrom exclaims. That’s snapped him right out of it. Robin doesn’t know why Chrom’s so surprised, he was under the impression that was a common occurrence.

‘Street harasser may be a bit misleading. It wasn’t the street he was pestering but us, and when I say us, I mean the ladies in my company and then me, when I tried to step in.’ It’d been very unpleasant. The man was drunk, too, but that was no excuse for the rudeness of his tongue or the wandering of his hands.

Chrom’s face is very unimpressed. ‘You didn’t think to tell me this either.’

‘It didn’t come up,’ Robin says. ‘And he deserved whatever he got.’

‘I recall the events a bit differently there,’ Sully chimes in with a dangerous smile. ‘After I punched him, _you_ kicked the dastard into the fountain.’

‘No, I recall that too,’ Robin admits easily.

‘Robin!’ Chrom exclaims.

‘Didn’t divulge that little detail,’ Sully states slyly. Why? Robin’s not ashamed and neither is she.

‘You didn’t need my help.’

‘Damn straight.’

‘Besides, what I contributed was a public service.’

‘Oh yeah?’

 _‘Yeah,’_ Robin feels himself grin toothily. Can sense Chrom’s surprise at his side. ‘I was sobering him up.’

‘Knew I liked you.’ Sully gets up, chucking her sharpening tool as she does so, sheathing her weapon to her hip as she saunters over. Her grin is lopsided and she looks over him, like the others are pretending not to. She slings an arm over the shoulders of a man. It’s the most physical contact Robin’s seen her allow. ‘This ‘ere’s Stahl.’

Robin hums as he lucks between them as Stahl relaxes against Sully. He figures it’s none of his business as he smiles. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Robin, Sully mentioned you.’ Some of his fringe flops into his eyes but with how messy his hair is, it’s no surprise he doesn’t bother righting it. ‘It’s good to be able to put a name to a face.’

‘You as well,’ though Sully hadn’t talked about him.  

Sully leans forward then, before the pleasantries can dry up. ‘All healed up there, birdie?’

‘More or less,’ Robin says as he shrugs.

‘Of course you’d say that.’ Lissa pouts as she crosses her arms over her chest. ‘Did you at least use the ointment?’

‘Yes, Princess.’ Lissa continues to stare at him. ‘I did!’

‘He really did,’ Chrom says.

‘And how would _you_ know?!’ Lissa demands.

For a moment both Chrom and Robin stare at each other with the same unspeakable panic. There’d be no ulterior agendas involved in last night. Robin had required help and Chrom and given it. But now, when having to try and explain why Chrom was so certain, it didn’t seem quite as clear.

‘Big bro?’ Lissa asks in confusion before her eyes begin to shine in interest. The sudden change is terrifying. ‘Did something -’

‘So! Introductions!’ Chrom cuts her off with a deflection that’s so obvious, it’s painful. Robin wants to wince because that’s just made the situation so. Much. Worse. ‘Robin, This is Sumia. We pinched her from the Pegasus Knights.’ The Pegasus Knights are their own fractions? ‘She’s very talented, though very new to battle.’

‘A-ah. Nice to meet you!’ Sumia says, clumsy but softly. ‘We’ve...heard a lot about you.’

 _I bet,_ Robin thinks because it feels different from when Stahl said it. It _is_ different. A lot of people are talking about him. ‘It’s nice to meet you as well.

Sumia is quiet. Her face is kind and though she regards him gently, her eyes are sorrowful. She doesn’t approach, keeps her distance. There’s something about her. A noble, maybe. Her hair ornaments certainly suggest money.

Chrom clears his throat. ‘And then we have Miriel, our mage and strategician and Ricken, whose apprenticing under her.’ He gestures to the two mages closer to the back. Miriel pushes her glasses her back up her nose, but it isn’t under Ricken pokes at her that she lowers an impressively large text she was reading. “Strategician” gets Robin’s attention, peaks his interest.

‘Salutations,’ Miriel states with an almost blank face, ‘hearing of your unprecedented circumstances I’d hoped to speak with you regarding your amnesia -’

‘Ah!’ Ricken steps in front of Miriel, hands held high just as Robin feels himself go cold. ‘What Teacher Miriel means is - you’re very... _fascinating,_ and she looks forward to getting to know you better!’ he says almost maniacally.

‘No,' Miriel says slowly as she blinks at Ricken, whose face is heating up, 'I was stating a desire to -’

Ricken laughs laughs loudly at them before ducking into Miriel's space, to hiss. ‘We’ve talked about this, you can’t just -’

‘I meant no offence, the mind is an incredibly -’

‘He’s a _person,_ not one of your experiments -’

‘Moving on!’ Chrom announces with some uneasiness of his own. It doesn’t stop the mages’ conversation but maybe he thinks if he talks over it, Robin won’t notice. ‘Vaike! Robin, Vaike’s our -’

‘Save it, Captain,’ the man Chrom points out interrupts. His face is cold and unsettling. ‘Ain’t no point in ‘im knowin’ me.’ He looks Robin’s way and there’s hatred there.

‘Vaike,’ Frederick says slowly. ‘You’ve been warned.’

Vaike shrugs. ‘It’s fine, I was jus’ leavin’ anyway.’

‘That’s not what we -’

But Vaike’s already getting up from the barrel he was leant on. There’s only one exit and Robin is standing in the way. Vaike barges into Robin’s shoulder and he can’t help how he flinches back into Chrom, as the hit jars the wound on his back. _‘Vaike!’_ Chrom shouts but the man is gone. ‘I’m sorry, are you alright?’

Robin’s chest clenches but he nods silently. ‘...yes. Fine. I’m fine.’ 

‘...Frederick,’ Chrom says after some staring. ‘Go find him.’

‘Yes, Milord,’ Frederick says with some hesitance but he leaves quicker then he would have yesterday.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Robin says.

Chrom’s frowning something fierce but he’s keeping a reign on it. ‘Regardless, we need him later and however lax we admittedly are, he wasn’t dismissed and -’ he stops, seems to realise who he’s talking with and swallows whatever was about to leave his mouth. ‘And, and you don’t have to deal with this.’

‘If I may,’ a lady cuts in as she steps forward, ‘I do believe you would have introduced me, if not for that philistine’s unbelievable rudeness.’

‘Ah, forgive me. Robin, This is Maribelle.’

Maribelle is a vision in pink. Pink and frills. She’s almost Virion’s male counterpart but though their style may be similar, Robin doesn’t need words to know they are quite different. Everything about Maribelle is poised and hyper focused. She’s sharp and if not careful, Robin knows she’ll cut him. She wields her parasol like a weapon as she curtsies. He feels hopelessly threatened as she looks up at him from under her eyelashes.

He bows, makes sure that this one is more formal and waits for her to rise before doing so himself. ‘Milady.’ With Sumia, it’s a guess, but with Maribelle, Robin can see her privileged upbringing in every line of her person.

Maribelle smiles. It reminds him of a wolf’s, despite none of her teeth showing. ‘My, you are smart,’ she states but it’s not a surprise to her. She was expecting this, which is intimidating in and of itself. ‘Please, Representative Robin, you may call me Maribelle.’

Robin takes a breath. Lissa and Chrom have no stance on standing. Least, they care none for it. Maribelle is aware of her status and likes to play. Robin feels very unprepared for this. ‘That’s - most kind of you, Maribelle,’ he says and feels like he’s walking around coals as she watches. ‘I insist you call me Robin.’

‘Robin,’ she enunciates like she’s _eating_ it, ‘I do look forward to getting to know you.’

‘And I you.’

‘Right. Well. That’s all of us.’ Chrom says in attempt to break the tension. Robin can almost bring himself to appreciate it, if Chrom wasn’t the one to kick him into the nest of vipers to begin with.

Virion clears his throat. ‘I think not.’

‘He knows _you,_ Virion -’

‘But of course ‘Ee does. One does not simply forget _moi_.’ Virion is loud and makes a show of prancing forward. ‘Tis good to see you zez morn, mon ami!’ he declares. Robin smiles and begins to reach out before Virion is takes it, and ducks into Robin’s personal space like he has no concept of it and presses two kisses into his cheeks.

He stumbles back. ‘Virion!’ Chrom barks as Robin fumbles at the gesture. The room is a mass of shocked faces but the remaining rigidness of his arrival is dispelled. Robin looks back into Viron’s eyes. They are steady, intelligent, and Robin finds himself allowing the man to keep hold of his hand.

‘Forgive me, the last we met I waz not able to properly greet you,’ Virion apologises, sweeping into an elaborate bow. ‘Zat is ‘ow we do it in my ‘ome country.’

Virion readjusts the grip on Robin’s hand, fingers sliding expertly so that their palms are touching instead. His free hand touches his chest and Robin - Robin _knows this._ He copies Virion’s low posture, hand to hand, heart to heart as he cups his own breast.

‘Namaste,’ Robin utters and he’s suddenly so _grateful_ . Because this is what was missing, before. “ _I bow to thee,”_ he thinks and sees.

Virion smirks then, but it’s not mocking and it melts just for a moment into an infinitely kind smile. ‘Namaste,’ he returns and they part. It’s accented and said as a foreigner would; he’s not a speaker, but educated enough to know their ways. ‘And zat, is ‘ow zay do et in your’s, no?’

‘Yes, it is.’

Virion inclines his head. ‘You too are far from your mozzer land, _oui?’_

‘It seems that way,’ Robin says, ‘I am not...as lost as I expected to be.’

‘Ah, zo zome of your memory ‘az returned?’

‘...no, but I seem to be rediscovering things about myself everyday.’

‘I expect zat to be razzer lonesome, non?’

‘I’ve been fortunate to meet some very kind people.’

‘Ah but you’re made of mettle, are you not?’

‘... _Petit a petit, l’oiseau fait son nid,’_ Robin says as Virion’s accent knocks something free. “Little by little, the bird makes its nest,” it means. Or, it should. A saying he thinks he likes, though not by imitation. He doesn’t feel as confident with it like with Ylissean and he doesn’t think he knows as much. ‘I do what I must.’

Virion’s surprised expression doesn’t last long. Nothing much seems to phrase this man for long. ‘Vous parlez?’ His voice isn’t any sharper, but if Robin didn’t have Virion’s attention before, he has it now. “You speak?” he asks.

‘Peut-être?’ Robin offers. “Perhaps” because he can make no promises.

‘’Ow exciting,’ Virion says. ‘Would you partake tea with me? My treat, of course.’

‘Tea?’ Robin feels the need to ask.

‘Is zat not to your liking? Per’aps too pedestrian? You are a man of knowledge are you not? Maybe you would enjoy zomething more...entertaining?’

‘I -’ Robin pauses. ‘Votre langue vous manque?’ It’s not so much a question, “you miss your language?” In fact, it’s quite inane. Robin does, and it doesn’t truly feel like his own.

Virion chuckles, but he does step back. ‘Unashamedly? Oui. Désespérément.’ _Yes. Hopelessly._ ‘Je ne connais pas bien votre langue. Je ne peux pas retourner la faveur. Je ne peux donner que ma compagnie.’

“I do not know your language well. I cannot return the favour. I can give only my company.” The words are edging into self-deprecating but Robin only just manages to translate them.

‘Ah - lentement,’ he warns, “ _slowly”_ because this is giving him some difficulty. ‘Ou le seul divertissement sera les malentendus entre nous,’ which should mean “or the only entertainment will be the misunderstandings between us.”

Virion blinks but he does begin slower. ‘Alors, vous êtes prêt?’ _then, you are willing?_ He asks like speaking with him more would really be an imposition. Insecure? Definitely more sensitive than Robin would have guessed.

Robin smiles. ‘Oui.’ And then, because he can, ‘entertain me.’

Virion’s softer expression turns more playful. ‘You c’allenge me, mon ami, but I am prepared to take your gambit.’   

‘ _Wow_ …’ Lissa’s voice chimes in. Robin looks back and her eyes are wide. ‘Robby, you speak _three_ languages?’

‘I...guess so?’ Robin says. ‘Ylissean is easier.’

‘Don’t say it like it’s nothing!’ Lissa scolds. ‘They make us learn Feroxian and I’m no good at it.’

‘Feroxian but not Plegian?’ Robin says because they’re both Ylissean neighbours and while Chrom said they’d stopped Plegian due to the war, they’d also said Feroxians were in isolation.

‘Er...well,’ Lissa trails off awkwardly.

‘Plegian is a difficult language,’ Chrom begins slowly. ‘Emm had three teachers. One for the spoken language, another for the written Plegian and then one for Theban. Our relationship with Plegians isn’t one where we can ask for that again.’

‘I see,’ more of the same, then. Theban, though. ‘We...have a second alphabet? For magics.’

‘Yes,’ Chrom confirms, ‘most tomes are written in Theban so a lot of casters can read it, but speak no Plegian.’

Robin blinks. Ylisse - Ylisseans primarily uses Elemental magic and not a lot else.  To get a Elemental Tome to work for you is no easy feat, it’s finicky and requires a lot of dedication in and of itself, but it’s not a science. It’s harvesting something that’s already there. Elemental Tomes are oaths to whatever elemental you’re using - to the dragon that created it. Some won’t like you. All can reject you. Robin can’t recall one mage that could use all elements.

Elder magic on the other hand, is a study. But that doesn’t make the practice good and it certainly doesn’t make it healthy. ‘Elemental Tomes - they’re often written in Theban out of habit. It’s mainly for Elder Magic.’

‘...Yes, they are,' Chrom agrees, this time a lot more hesitantly. 'We don’t - well… you may be able to find texts on Dark - _Elder_ Magic here, but not many.’

That slip of the tongue - while it's something Chrom corrected. still reminds Robin of the bias that exists.

‘Ah. I - forgot that Ylisseans disapprove.’ In front of Chrom is one thing, but with all these new faces, Robin really should have left the intersection for later.

‘I’m no magic castor.’ Chrom shrugs like it’s of no consequence to him, when he looks uncomfortable on the subject matter.

‘Hah.’ Lissa snorts. ‘No aptitude, your teacher said.’

‘Yes, _thank you_ , Lissa. What I mean to say, is I have no real understanding of it, so I try not to judge. But.’

 _‘Dark Magic_ can be utterly barbaric. Don’t tell me you practice it,’ Maribelle demands with clear disapproval.

‘Do you?’ Robin finds himself asking.

‘No! Of course not.’

‘Have you ever?’

‘No.’

‘If not then how can you condemn it?’ The words are sharp because he’s done this song and dance before, and he’s tired of Ylisseans making assumptions they know nothing about.

‘Surely you’re not -’

 _‘Elder Magic_ is dangerous,’ Robin states plainly because it _is._ ‘Like anything that is dangerous there are risks and consequences that come along with it, and some of it is abused horribly to hurt others,’ Robin can admit. ‘But on the top of my head I can think of half a dozen “Dark magic” spells that can improve day to day life.’

‘Fascinating. Would you provide an example?’ Miriel asks.

‘The Well Being spell. You can check on a person’s condition if they’re far away. A traveller for example, or perhaps a soldier. Or maybe a child has wandered too far and their parents cannot find them. On that line of thinking, there’s also a way we can track someone.’

‘Thank you, for sharing that, Robin,’ Chrom says with some relief as it quiets the others.

‘...of course.’ Miriel has pulled out a rather robust book and is writing furiously, while Maribelle has simply wrinkled up her nose in reaction.

‘I think this will all reminds us to be a bit less judgemental over things we don’t fully understand.’ The statement couldn’t be anymore pointed. There’s a series of “yes captains,” but something’s been ruffled in Robin. And it doesn’t soothe this time.

* * *

Vaike comes back no less aggressively than he left but he _comes back,_ which Robin half assumed he wouldn’t. He sits as far away from Robin as he can, but Robin’s hardly complaining over that.

‘So, what’s this about Captain?’ Stahl asks tentatively.

‘The monsters, right?’ Vaike pipes up. ‘Something cooked up by the Plegs?’

Robin’s breathing stops and his fists curl.

‘Vaike!’

‘Well, is it?!’ Vaike snaps.

Robins lungs begin to burn.

Chrom's eyes narrow in warning. 'I've been in meetings with the council about the monsters we've decided to call Risen for now,' he reports steadily. 'I was there when they appeared and we cannot now for certain where they come from.'

'But we can guess.' 

‘We're not here to speculate. The Risen are of _unknown origin._  What we're here to discuss are the reports of them all over our country side.’

 _‘What?_ I can’t be the only one thinking this!’

‘Emm has asked that we clear as many as we can so that the Guards can shut the gates. We’ll leave before Noon to stop them from filtering in,’ Chrom is ploughing on, in despite of Vaike’s comments but he really wished Chrom could just get him to stop. ‘Robin.’

Robin looks up and hates himself for the wetness of his eyes. ‘Yes?’

‘...You’re in your right to refuse.’ he says and Robin is thankful that he doesn’t mention it. ‘In fact, it will probably be smarter if you do. You are, after all, a foreign representative. But on the chance of obtaining one more fighter with a better idea of what we’re up against, and I feel obligated to ask.’

‘What! Captain, He’s a Pleg!’ Vaike objects.

 _‘Vaike._ We don’t have _time_ for this,’ Chrom snaps.

‘Don’t have time?! How’d you know that he ain’t responsible?!’

‘They’re despicable,’ Robin finds himself saying. He shouldn't engage this man. It will do no good. It never goes any good. No amount of right words will change anyone’s mind about him, and that’s perhaps the most frustrating part.

‘What was that?!’ Vaike sneers.

‘I said they’re _despicable_!’ Robin shouts as he turns to regard Vaike. His patience snaps. He needs to hit something but that something can’t be Vaike’s face. ‘I’m disgusted by them. It goes against everything I believe in!’

‘Oh. Those believes given to ya by that Death Dragon of yours?!

 _‘Yes!’_ Robin yells. He feels himself trembling. His face is hot. _‘Me and My Death Dragon._ Death is singular. _Final._ Life has meaning because it _ends._ It is a sacrifice, one that should not be undone by mortal hands. Whoever has done this I can _assure_ you has nothing to do with the Grimleal.’

‘So you admit it!’

‘Admit it? Admit _what?!’_

‘That you worship that Unholy _thing.’_

 _‘Grima,’_ Robin breathes because he can’t defend himself but he’ll at least try for Grima.'Grima. His name is Grima! And Of course I do. _Every part of me is what I am._ I may have lost twenty-some years but it’s in my blood. It’s in my blood and I am not ashamed of it, or of my Lord Grima.’

‘See! He’s evil! Chrom!’ Chrom tenses right up at that but Robin doesn’t give him the opportunity to contribute. A part of Robin is scared of what he’ll hear if he does.  

‘Evil?’ he repeats, hushed but no less mad. ‘Is that a synonym for a Plegian, or a Grimleal in this country?!’

‘Hey, if the title fits _wear it.’_

‘Have you ever even _met_ a Plegian? A Grimleal?’ Robin demands. ‘Or are we all the same to you? My colour and creed do _not_ dictate my character.’

‘Hah! Meet one Pleg, and you meet them all!’

‘Both of you will crease this behaviour,’ Frederick commands. Robin wants to lash out. He’s aching to do so. ‘Milord, Robin is obviously already causing a disruption, I feel that his participation, while having advantages does not merit the disadvantages he brings to our party.’

He’s the problem? Robin stands, it’s sudden and he knows a few flinch. He pulls up his hood. Damn it. _Furious_. Robin may just be furious. He doesn’t know his limits and that will very well end up dangerous for him, but this is certainly the angriest he’s felt. ‘Chrom,’ he says without a suffix and doesn’t _care_. ‘If you’ll allow me, I’ll come with you.’

Chrom is angry too but it’s not directed at him. The prince inclines his head and consciously looks at non one but Robin. ‘Thank you, Robin.’

‘Captain!’ Vaike yells. ‘How can you trust him not to stab him in the back?!’

Chrom’s face clouds again. ‘Because the best chance of that he had was the other day and he didn’t take it. He’s had every advantage to advance himself, and he hasn’t and he won’t.’

‘Captain -’

‘Last I checked, Vaike, The Shepherd's is a group for volunteers. Robin has _volunteered._ He can obviously put your differences aside for Ylisse. If the same cannot be said for you than leave.’

Frederick stands as well. ‘Milord, are you sure it is wise -’

‘Frederick,’ that tone is enough to have the knight falter. ‘When I reached my majority I partitioned to the council to allow me to head a unit, that would be able to handle problems Ylisse was no longer able to. They allowed it because we were desperate. We are still desperate and Robin is willing and capable. I will hear nothing else said against it.’

* * *

They’re about to leave when Robin gets pulled away from the group. He’s not overjoyed to be in Frederick’s company, but the feeling is obviously mutual, and hey, misery has it out for him.

‘Robin.’ Frederick states.

‘Frederick.’ He went with Frederick but he doesn’t have to be on his best behaviour. That’s run dry for him and he’s grown tired of trying only for it to do him no good. It’s only been a day. It’s lucky he won’t be waiting for that pegasus knight for much longer.

‘I do not want to cause more strife before we do battle,’ Frederick states and yet here they are.

‘Why? Do you feel like I will be less inclined to help you if you require it?’

‘I wish you wouldn’t be so antagonistic.’

‘Hah.’

‘I truly find nothing of this situation to be amusing.’

‘Funny that,’ Robin says sardonically, ‘neither do I.’

‘Your sense of humour leaves a lot to be desired.’

‘So does this conversation.’

Frederick takes a deep breath as he leans back. Robin doesn't care how aggrieved the knight looks. ‘Truly, you agitate me.’

‘Do I? And why is that? What have I done to offend you?’ Robin demands as his head throbs. A headache is on its way. ‘You’re a smart man, I can tell that, you can work out that what I’ve said from the start is looking more likely. You _know that._ I had the seal -’

‘That could be fake.’ It’s a weak loophole and they both know it.

‘Assuming for a moment it _is,_ why pretend to have amnesia? Why pretend to lose everything in my life on my journey into a foreign country, that I would ordinarily know would perceive me badly? But which my memory loss “makes” me lose that one defence. Why _would I pretend to have forgotten the seal at all?!_ Because you're right. Without the seal, my entry into Ylisse is suspicious but with it all your suspicions fall apart!

‘They fall apart.’ Robin forces himself to breathe but cannot help the aggression he is showing. ‘Because with it, I don’t need a rouse like amnesia. All it does is makes me vulnerable. Vulnerable and muddies the waters.’

Frederick is silent for a moment. ‘While that could be true, I cannot discount how much of a risk you are to the Prince and Princess.’

‘You see me as a threat,’ Robin states.

‘Yes.’ Frederick at least doesn’t mince his words. No one here does apparently. ‘You are obviously well versed with both your weapons and you’re intelligent.’  

‘I’m intelligent,’ Robin repeats, ‘now, if I’m truly so intelligent, Frederick, think about why this whole plot doesn’t make any _sense_ . Look past my skin. Look past my _Bhakti_ and remember I am intelligent, and that I’ve probably had half a dozen chances to make good on whatever it is you are afraid of me doing.’

For a moment Frederick is looking at Robin like maybe he’s reached the knight. For a moment it feels like he’s made some progress.

‘...Until word gets back from Regna Ferox, no matter what Prince Chrom says, your status is unconfirmed. I should not have to make this anymore clear -’

‘No,’ Robin cuts in because he’s done. ‘No, you don’t. You’ve been perfectly clear.’

Let them think what they want.

* * *

Robin believed taking his anger out on the Risen may help but it doesn’t. It’s sad, actually. Fighting these - _beings,_ is sad, because their rest has been disturbed. Their rest and their autonomy stolen and twisted.

It's the least of Robin's worries, however. Chrom called Miriel the Shepherd’s strategician so he’d assumed that she would know something of tactics. But then she directs _Chrom_ towards a _lance wielder._ Sumia in the general direction of an _archer_ , and Sully is next to an opponent with a _javelin_. If there is method in this madness, Robin _can’t_ _find it._ Lissa is also left unprotected in this formation, and maybe it’s that knowledge and the advancement of the lance wielder that makes Robin snap. He leaves his own position beside Frederick. 

‘Back!’ Robin screams as he shoves himself into Chrom’s space. The man has a weak left side so he doesn’t have to push too hard to herd Chrom behind him. Thoron answers his call and it doesn’t take much for their opponent to fall. An archer is lining up with Lissa, a swordsman protecting him. Their close enough to support. They'll have to be. He points it out to Chrom. ‘With me!’  

Chrom doesn’t ask, just obeys as he runs the swordsman and Robin’s left to take care of the archer. There’s more of the Risen than they expected. And too few of them. Shepherds. Gods, Robin’s seen _guards_ around Ylisse but no soldiers. He’s starting to believe they don’t _have_ any. And these people have no clue what they’re doing. To Hell with what Frederick says. To what anyone says. He’s not going to stand around and watch this madness.

He checks their positions. He can fix this. _He can fix this._ ‘Lissa! Stay behind us, in the middle,’ he snaps and the princess jolts but she follows his instructions, as he fires a bolt of lightning at another Risen. ‘Frederick, fall back. Between our two lines. Act as our support!’

‘Milord -’ Frederick starts to ask. Miriel has fallen silent at this intervention. Robin’s glad. They’ll have words. But there’s a time and place and it _isn’t_ on the battlefield.

‘Just do it, Frederick!’ Chrom snaps as he covers Robin, who's stumbling out of a dodge.

‘Very well.’

‘Miriel, with Vaike,’ Robin demands because their left needs more long distance fighters. ‘Vaike -’

‘I’m not going to -‘

 _‘What,_ that side of the field too _strong_ for you?’ Robin goads. Vaike’s smart but his temper’s stronger. He goes.

’Stahl, Stay with Sully on your side. Virion, follow them.’

‘Aye, aye.’

‘Roger.’

Robin takes a breath.

There.

Formation acquired.

* * *

Robin stands over the remains of the last Risen. He doesn’t know where they’re all coming from but the area is at least clear now. They sent Stahl with Virion to inform the Guard they could no close the gate. He feels numb. Spent. His throat is raw and his hands won’t still. He bunches them into his stomach, that's rocking too.

‘Robin?’ Chrom enquires softly.

Robin breathes. He forces himself to turn. They’re staring at him. ‘I’m not sorry,’ he states. Because he’s not.

‘We’re not asking you to be,’ Chrom says but he looks confused now.

‘Oh.’ He feels dizzy. His vision is blurred and he feels so hollowed out and empty. He’s running on fumes, but he was tired yesterday with two battles after one another. Now - this is something else.

Chrom's frowning, head tilted. ‘What do you think you need to be sorry about?’

‘I don’t know,’ Robin says, ‘Nothing. Everything.’

‘Robin,’ Chrom begins, ‘do you need to sit?’

‘No.’ If he sat he wasn’t getting up under his own power.

‘...is that, like, secretly Plegian for “yes.”’ Lissa asks.

‘Yes.’

‘What, really?’

‘No. “Yes,” is secretly Plegian for _“ No.”’_

‘You mean it’s a not-so-secret way of proving you're totally a sassy Sally?’ Lissa deadpans.

‘First there’s an Alec and now there’s a Sally,’ Robin mutters as he blinks heavily, ‘how do you keep track of them all?’

‘Seriously...are you okay?’ Lissa asks, twisting her heal staff in her hands as she glances to look at Maribelle.

‘Yes.’

‘...Is that _actually -’_

‘ _No.’_

‘Robin!’

He ignores her and turns on Miriel. ‘I don’t know where you studied tactics but you need to study more.

‘A not inaccurate statement.’ Miriel allows without offence. ‘A more interesting line of questioning would be you and where you required your own fortitude.’

Robin falters but. ‘You know damned well know I haven’t a clue,’ he retorts.

‘Of course. It’s utterly fascinating.’

‘Fascinating’ Robin repeats. She says that a lot. He doesn’t like it.

‘Quite.’

Robin’s eyes narrow as he regards her. ‘...I prefer you with Ricken. _Where_ is Ricken?’

‘We left him back at the Barracks.’ Chrom says with a frown.

‘Oh,’ Robin says. ‘Why’d we do that again?’

‘Because he hasn’t met his majority yet.’

Robin sways. It feels like he’s out on the sea. ‘Neither has Lissa.’

‘Lissa’s a healer.’

‘Yeah. What’s your point?’

‘She’s not fighting,’ Chrom attempts to clarify.

‘That’s debatable. And doesn’t matter. She’s who an enemy will target first,’ Robin states with some ire. ‘Her and Maribelle. Their healers. That’s who they’ll always go after first. So they’re at the most risk.’

‘...Right, well...he’s still learning.’

‘Sweet Grima. So are several of the people here. _Vaike_ forgot his _weapon -’_ ‘Hey!’ Vaike protests and that’s going to be a huge headache but Robin’s on this roll. Has all this momentum. ‘-I don’t understand. You’re in need of long distance fighters. Why keep one of the few fighters who _is_ away?’

‘He joined us young, I guess I haven’t…’

‘Chrom,’ Robin says slowly, he wonders if they’ll mind if he’s sick in a minute, ‘if you don’t want Ricken here, you really shouldn’t have Lissa here. And if you’re going to argue semantics over morality -’

‘Which - I’d like to point out, we _weren’t_ -’

‘Shut up, this is pretty funny.’ Sully interrupts Chrom’s interruption and Robin doesn’t care about that either. Lady Emmeryn could be here and it’d probably make a lick of difference to him. He’s having that kind of day.

‘I shouldn’t be here either,' Robin says as he taps his head, or at least tries. 'Whole amnesia thing can, you know. Probably get in the way.’

‘Robin. Where are you going with this?’ Chrom seems to be tiring of this back and forth. Wants a resolution. Well, so does Robin

‘Ricken is Miriel’s foil. He may be young but so is Lissa. I understand you may not need an interpreter, but she _does_.’

‘Ah…’ Chrom says like he sees the light and _gets it._

Robin nods encouragingly, before he’s back to despairing. ‘She’s your  _tactician_ , and this is an  _important position_. Your tactician needs a translator. _why.’_

‘Milord called me a strategician, actually,’ Miriel corrects him, ‘which is a vastly different to a tactician.’

Robin feels himself staring for an uncomfortable long time. The only one seeming unaffected is Miriel. ‘ _Kya.’_ or _"What."_ Who cares about language? The meaning seems to get across.

Miriel adjusts her glasses. Robin thinks he hates her. ‘Well, it’s quite simple, really: a strategician is an adjective which means a person dedicated to the long-term goals and interests of something and aids in achieving them. On top of identifying problems, I help with our finances, supplies and keep track of everyone.’

Too many words.

'While I do give commands while in the field, that's more be ceding that I am the most qualified.' 

Ah. She's still going?

'A tactician, as you say, is a person who plans strategies for battle. A position, I can theorise from your behaviour today, is something familiar to you.'

Everything blurs. Vaguely, he comes to the understanding that he's forced himself to use too much of his mana and he's paying for it. 

‘It’s painful and everything hurts.’ Robin sobs dryly.

 _‘Do_ something,’ Lissa hisses to her brother as Robin cradles his head.

‘A-ah. R-Robin?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he cries because he knows he's a horrible mess. He  _knows_ and he asked to be brought out here and now he's barely still on his feet.

‘Hey now, it’s fine.’ Chrom tries to reason like a functional human, but Robin’s just not having it. ‘I thought we said we weren’t going to do that anymore.’

‘If you haven’t by now, Chrom, it’s time you learnt a very important lesson.’

‘...what’s...that?’

‘That people lie.’ And oh hey. That’s a tear. Tears. Once they start they really don’t stop do they?

‘Oh, er - you haven’t - I mean, that is to say. -’

‘Chrom!’ Lissa whisper-shouts. Robin doesn’t know who she thinks she’s fooling.

‘Right! Robin, you haven’t lied. It was just a -’

‘No, but I want to.’ He wants to be _able_ to.

‘Er. Okay. That’s fine, too.’

‘It won’t be one day.’

‘That’s very -’

‘Just call me maudlin and be done with it.’

‘I wasn’t going to say that!’

‘Seriously, this is like, the _worst_ reaction to mana deprivation I’ve seen,’ Lissa says and a large part of its concern, but there’s a lot of awe too.

‘I must concur,’ Maribelle agrees. ‘Milord, please try and talk some sense into him.’

‘Robin. Do you hear that?’

‘Maybe.’ What does it matter?

‘We think you’ve used too much magic.’

‘Oh no, I have.’ He’s so empty. Everything is gone. It’s all used up. Every time he’d reached for his blasted sword another opponent would pop would to stop him. ‘Because you need more ranged fighters.’

‘...right. I know, but let’s focus on you. You’ve used too much and we need to treat you.’

‘I think we do enough of that,’ Robin mutters.

‘Robin, you’re looking very unsteady there.’

Robin hums. So? Who cares? ‘Do you think Grima will be mad?’

Chrom pauses. He looks worried. Robin doesn’t know how to fix that, either. ‘...no. I don’t think Grima will be mad?’

‘I haven’t prayed.’ The words are like ash in his mouth. It feels dreadful. He feels awful. Everything is awful.

‘What?’ Chrom asks.

‘While I was re-killing things. The Risen,’ Robin says, ‘I remembered. I haven’t prayed. Because I forgot.’ He hadn’t given his thanks for another day, he hasn’t prayed for the dead; the one’s he’s killed. He’s meant to. When taking a life. He has to and he hasn’t and he still isn’t because if he kneels now, he isn’t getting up.

‘Oh...oh. I don’t think Grima will be mad.’

'You don't?' 

'...I haven't read many Grimleal texts -'

'Technically haven't read any -'

'But I'm sure there's a clause that you have to  _remember that you need to.'_

Robin hums again. ‘You need to get a tactician, too.’

‘...right.’

‘No, you really need to get one.’

‘How about we have this conversation when you're lucid?’ Chrom suggests as he begins to advance on Robin, carefully, like he’s afraid Robin will run. Jokes on him, Robin’s not going _anywhere_.

‘One that doesn’t need a translator.’

‘Robin.’

‘I think…’

‘Yeah?’ Chrom says patiently as he nears Robin.

‘I think I’m gonna faint.’

‘Yeah - wait, _what?!’_

Chrom’s panicked voice is the last thing Robin hears as he tips forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Exhaustion covers Chapter 2: Shepherds.) 
> 
> So yeah. Here it is. One of Robin's defining features in their supports is their sarcasm. Their also played as the "straight man" against a lot of the other characters. I feel like now that Robin knows that there's a high chance he's legitimate and he's been told more about the Grimleal, he'll feel more comfortable speaking his mind. That and his patience snaps. Wasn't quite what I had in mind when I started this but eh - it happened.
> 
> Had a lot of fun with the dialogue here, actually. I wrote a lot of it first and then did the other bits next. It's actually really helpful. Robin at the end there really rolled. Which is ironic, because I had him behaving like he got a concussion in the middle of a break down. Which isn't actually inaccurate. Mana depletion's no joke, kids. 
> 
> Frick I'm so depressed. 
> 
> But, Introductions are done! Did I forget one? Yeah. Kellum. I'm sorry to anyone who really likes him but there are enough characters to keep track of without Kellum, who's defining feature is how forgettable he is. I nearly went ahead and added him but then decided against it.
> 
> Oh! And Ricken. I didn't even ThiNK about how Ricken and Lissa look to be the same age, until I started writing that scene and now that's all I can think about. Imagine if it's all just one huge snub on Chrom's part haha.


	6. F is for “Facets”

It’s dark and someone is calling his name again. The voice begins to whisper quietly, but his subconscious is desperate to ignore it, until he can’t. The rasping tenor becomes more and more demanding. He runs until he runs into wakefulness, but awareness is slow coming. There’s a fever humming under his temples culminating in the cold sweat. His limbs feel numb and uncooperative as he shifts, rolling onto his side. His visions is glassy as he blinks but he’s in his room, and the familiarity would be a relief, if he remembered how he got here.

He blinks back the darkness as spots dance in his vision. He tries to convince himself he’s okay. His room is dimly lit from the moon and strategically placed candles but the shadows are stalking and it’s intimidating after he’s woken. He breathes for a moment, thoughts sluggish as he stares at an indistinguishable blob beside him. He squints at it as colours blur together. Clarity all but hits him over the head as he startles.  _ Chrom. _ Chrom is leant up against his bed.

His marked hand reaches out to gently rouse the man. Chrom is slumped against the mattress, head in his arms and unruly hair obscuring his face. His fingers shake as they gently press themselves against Chrom’s exposed shoulder. He jolts instantly, up, and looking around the room. ‘Robin!’ Chrom explains unevenly. _ who?  _ ‘You’re awake!’

Oh. Robin. ‘Chrom…? What’re you - What’s happened? Did I…’

Chrom’s just started to smile, something sweet, almost dopey before Robin’s confusion is realised. ‘You lost consciousness,’ he states. ‘It’s fine, you’re fine.’

‘Fine?’ Robin repeats as he watches Chrom’s eyes.

‘Well.’ Chrom hesitates. ‘Do you remember Forest?’ 

‘…forest?’ 

‘The healer. You saw him when you arrived.’ 

Robin blinks. Forest, right. Yes. He’d been accommodating but stern. Late forties to early fifties, Forest had seen the prime of his life and Robin didn’t think it’d been happy. ‘Yes,’ he says though they hadn’t spoken much. Forest seems to be a man of few words. ‘He…treated me again?’ 

‘Yes, you had a few scraps but - well, mana depletion. You’ve got a crystal under your pillow and a few runes he draw under the bed.’ Robin doesn’t need Chrom to spell it out for him, he knows that to use both crystals and runes to replenish what he’d used, it was serious.  

Robin groans. ‘I overdid it.’ 

‘You can say that.’ Chrom smirks wryly.

‘How bad was it?’

Robin also didn’t want to ask and Chrom, himself, cringes as he slumps back down to lean on the bed. ‘…you were ranting over the state of the Shepherds, and then…’

‘Then? Oh no. Oh embarrassed am I?’ Robin can think of many things that he could’ve blurted themselves from his mouth. Especially with how upset he’d been at the time.There were obvious targets…

‘No, no,’ Chrom rushes to reassure. ‘No one will be - judgemental.’ 

‘Strange hill to die on, but alright.’ Not that it’d all been undeserving, but people had been nothing  _ but  _ since he’d arrived. 

‘No. I promise. Everyone knows about mana depletion and what the deprivation does to someone. It only got so bad because - well, you’re right. We’re in a state and you were compensating for us.’

Robin exhales through his nose. ‘Why’re you such a way, anyway?’ 

‘…simply?’

‘If you must.’ Robin really would like to know, though he supposes it may be none of his business. 

‘After the war, with the state of the country how it was, we had but one battalion: the Royal Guard. Emm fashioned the Pegasus Knights from their number and had the rest of the soldiers protecting the castle and the border.’ 

That’s - astonishing. ’So - the Shepherds…’ 

Chrom’s face ages before him. 'The Shepherds are an independent group; volunteers…but we’re really the only one’s properly operational to leave Ylisstol.’ 

‘That’s a lot of work,’ Robin comments as he keeps his shock to himself.

‘Yes,’ Chrom admits, ‘but it can be fulfilling and without it I wouldn’t have done the things I have. I wouldn’t have met you.’ 

Chrom brushes a disagreeable piece of hair which’d pulled into Robin’s eyes, behind his ear. He swallows compulsively and hopes it’s not as loud as it sounds. ‘You’ve...been here all this time?’ 

‘Well,’ Chrom sits back and Robin should find relieve in that, ‘I...didn’t want you to wake up alone and, you don’t really know anyone else.’ 

‘What you’re telling me Frederick didn’t volunteer?’ Robin gasps in mock outrage. Chrom snorts, lips turning up into a faint smile. The previous subject was an obvious sore spot for him. ‘I’m shocked. I thought we’d gotten so close!’ 

‘Oh, so you’ve got jokes?’ This is so horribly inappropriate and yet Chrom looks so delighted that Robin doesn’t change his attitude into something more demure, something more digestible. Chrom is a very strange prince.

‘Suppose I have,’ Robin says lightly and can’t restrain his own smile any longer. ‘Chrom?’ 

‘Yeah?’ Chrom tilts his head, his hair, messy from slip, moving to cover his right eye. 

‘Toda raba,’ Robin says sincerely.

‘I - don’t know…’ Chrom flusters.

‘Thank you,’ Robin says again, in Ylissean. He didn’t expect Chrom to know. He just wanted to truly mean it when he said it. Things get lost in translation, sometimes. Ylissean and Plegia share a root language before they broke off and evolved separately, so they’re similar but the differences are also vast.

Chrom blinks and his cheeks flush. ‘Please. Save your thanks. It was no trouble and - again, I’ve forced my company on you.’ 

‘If that’s the only bad habit you have Chrom - er...Prince Chrom?’ 

‘No, truly, I...like it greatly when you say my name,’ Chrom confesses with a saccharine tone, ‘I know you began to drop the title out of lost temper, but…’ 

Robin sighs and runs trembling hands through his hair. He stops and pulls his left one back to see how shaky he is, distracted for a moment. Still not properly back to full strength, then. ‘I...made a mess of that, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have risen to them like that.’ 

Chrom huffs. ‘I thought you handled yourself well.’ 

Robin laughs, it’s short, just a tad too sharp. ‘I wanted to hit him.’ 

Chrom pauses for a moment. ‘You think  _ I _ didn’t?’ 

‘…truly?’ 

Chrom sighs and it sounds pained. ‘I’m sorry about Vaike. He’s not - it’s no excuse but during the war, when Plegian began to retaliate, his village was one of the first attacked. He wasn’t...left with much.’ 

Robin feels himself go cold. Cold, like all his blood has drained away. ‘...what do you mean?’ 

‘It’s not your -’

‘Chrom.’ His voice is strong here, clear and probing. 

‘...his mother and father died. He managed to save his little brother and escape with other villagers, and eventually made it to Ylisstol. They don’t have much, even now. He works hard and he still volunteers. This - antagonism, I want you to know, that it comes from a place of hurt.’ 

_Orphaned._ Vaike was orphaned. 

‘Robin?’

Robin blinks and attempts to clear his throat. ‘…I’m sorry, for him, but I -’ he feels so conflicted and though his temper cools with empathy, it does not vanish. Yes, Vaike had lost a great deal but no countries walk into a war freely. Both sides lose once diplomacy have failed and words stop and violence begins. 

‘No. It’s no excuse. It’s just - I don’t want to spin you a long tale,’ Chrom stumbles over himself here, ‘and yet, I seem to be. I just - don’t want you to believe that’s all my people are; hatred and…’ 

‘Chrom,’ Robin interrupts before he can upset himself any further. ‘I don’t. I don’t think that. I’m...increasingly conflicted over it. But I don’t believe that, and I - I don’t, regret being here and meeting you.’

‘...you do not? We’ve not treated you as well as we should have.’ 

‘Maybe not, and yes, I’m steadily disheartened and hurt and yes, I’ve lost my temper, but I’m -’ Robin takes a breath and finds himself reaching out to Chrom. He shouldn’t, he knows that, it’s stupid but his fingers skim over the prince’s arm. ‘I don’t return their enmity. Least, they haven’t got me to madness yet.’ 

‘...you’ve not been with us long. It’d be quite ridiculous if we’d driven you to violence already.’ 

‘Oh, don’t be so modest.’

Chrom inhales deeply. ‘I haven’t...been upfront with you, either. No one really knows how to speak with you about it. Emm’s left it to me, but…’

‘The war?’ It seems to be the dragon in the room. Every room and village and street. This elusive war seems to be every but in Robin’s memories which perhaps makes it all the more frustrating. It feels like every moment he doesn’t know is the equivalent of dangling a snack in front of a ravenous animal. 

‘It’s not right that I haven’t told you already.’

‘Are you planning on it?’

‘...yes.’ 

Now?’ Robin so desperately wants this information but as Chrom becomes more distressed and withdrawals, he knows the answers. He doesn’t like it, and he can’t say he understands but it’s not an easy thing he’s asking for either. 

‘...I.’

‘Eventually?’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ Chrom confirms with an uneasy nod of his head. The motion is strong, as if he has to fight with himself to make it. Everything in this man is wanting to retreat. Robin has seen Chrom fight, seen this man do battle with Risen and keep composure like few people would be able to. Seeing this caution here is not a good sigh.

‘I thought we’d promised that we’d stop apologising,’ Robin responds, as good as any acceptance.  

‘Yes, well, you’ve taught me that people lie.’

‘Oh… oh no. I - said that, didn’t I?’ Robin recalls that vaguely now, and feels embarrassment rear its head. What a thing to say. 

‘Well, it was certainly memorable,’ Chrom laughs before even that small respite dies. ‘We shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.’

‘Mn.’ Robin couldn’t argue with that one though he’s probably just as responsible for agreeing to go along in the first place. Any sane person probably would have beggared off. ‘As a matter of curiosity…’

‘Hm?'

‘Are you going to get more ranged fighters?’ He asks with just a hint of cheek. 

Chrom laughs again. It’s a nice sound while it lasts. ‘I spoke to Ricken while Forest attended to you and next time, we’ll definitely bring him along.’ 

‘That’s a relief.’ And it is. Maybe it’s just because Robin’s a Plegian, but Ylisse is in real need for more mages. Even archers. Hel, Robin wouldn’t complain if one of them carried a javelin or a throwing axe.  _ Something.  _

‘And…’

‘...yes?’ 

Chrom clears his throat. It’s somewhat awkward and he’ll no longer meet Robin’s eye. ‘You said - I don’t know whether you remember…’ 

‘Can’t say I remember much of anything.’

‘Well, I suppose I deserved that.’ Chrom chuckles but it’s sadder.  ‘Before you collapsed. You asked me if Grima would be upset with you.’

‘Oh…’ 

Chrom coughs awkwardly. ‘Is...that -’

‘I’m a hierophant, and I’ve - I haven’t been performing my duties.’ However uncertain he is about everything else, ‘Grima is - my one constant. He’s returned to me when even my home country remains a confused mystery.’ 

‘It will come back in time.’ It’s an attempt at a reassurance but Robin can’t bring himself to be grateful for it.  In fact, false hope in that regard is nothing but irresponsible. 

‘You don’t know that.’ He tries to keep his tone mild and isn’t sure how well he does.

‘Other things -’

_ ‘Information _ has returned,’ Robin corrects abrasively, ‘I can - imagine the dunes, the chthonics and our temples. I know how to manoeuvre my sword, how to cast my magic. I remember language. The longer I’m here the more I recall factoids, but I don’t remember  _ learning _ anything I can do, or friends. I don’t remember my family, Chrom. I don’t know who gave me my name or how many years are attached to it.  _ Nothing _ person has returned!’

Robin’s breathing harshly as Chrom stares, eyes round and skin paler. Every little thing he regained was with the absence of something and it’s driving him mad. He wants his life back.

‘Nothing...at all?’ 

‘This surprises you?’ He’s sure that plenty of the people around him have their suspicions of everything he says and everything he doesn’t. Memory loss is strange on its own, how selective his seems to exacerbates the situation.

‘I cast no stones,’ Chrom soothes. He seems to be doing a lot of that. ‘I just - you’ve been functioning so  _ well _ .’ 

‘Hah. Well, I suppose if there ever was a compliment to be had out of this situation, it would be that.’ 

‘Robin.’ 

‘It’s like,’ Robin rubs his forehead, feeling his headache pounding away at his control, ‘it’s like the people have been removed from my life, Chrom.’ 

‘Maybe it’s...’ Chrom doesn’t finish. Can’t. And Grima bless him, he’s trying so hard to ease Robin’s concerns. The difficulty is no one can say. Forrest had been at loss as well. The mind is a tricky thing, they’ve only just begun to understand.

‘...Maybe,’ Robin says with acceptance that no one can do anything about it. ‘Do you know…’

‘What?’ 

‘I’d have to have had them, right?’ he asks desperately as uncertainty grows more strongly.

‘Robin?’

‘People. Even if - even if I was abandoned as a child, or given up or my family died. I would have had someone, wouldn’t I? I can’t have...always been alone.’ His breathing is coming out in short pants as Chrom grasps hold of the tops of his arms.

‘Robin, Robin -’

‘Even the  _ meaning _ of my name, it’s avian, isn’t it?’ he cuts in because he doesn’t know and he should.  _ Everyone knows _ this sort of trivia about themselves, to a degree that the knowledge itself should be bland.

‘Robin, you need to breathe.’

‘Th-there’s so much I’m missing,’ Robin says as his vision swims.

‘I know. I know, but right now you need to calm down,’ Chrom says urgently as he moves to sit on the side of the bed. He manhandles Robin up off the mattress and positions their chests together. He’s too shaky to protest. He can sense Chrom’s heartbeat; so much slower than his own. ‘Follow after me. In - one, two, three, four. Out - one, two, three, four. That’s it. That’s it. A-again. In -’

Robin feels like a fool as he breathes in and out on command, chin resting against the next of Chrom’s neck limply. Chrom’s hands are sliding soothing up and down Robin’s back. It’s more of a comfort than it should be. 

Fatigue is making him limp, exhaustion crashing around his ears after working himself up so badly. He feels himself go lax. ‘That’s it,’ Chrom encourages and just lets them rest here, like this as Robin gets himself back under control.

‘Sor-’

‘No, no.’ Chrom shushes him, voice low. ‘Just - just keep breathing.’ 

Robin does as he’s told as Chrom continues to pet him with large hands. Large hands that are capable, that are used to holding onto things. He can sense the power in them, the strength that is being withheld. 

Slowly, the tension begins to leave his spin. Chrom’s voice is soft when he finally speaks again. ‘Robins are...they’re small, round birds,’ he says and Robin’s ears perk up helplessly. ‘They’re local to Archanea. We seen them in spring so, they symbolise new birth. They’re believed to be a divine bird, for passion and honour.’ 

‘Really? Even here?’ Robin whispers. It sounds like the type of name given from someone loving, someone hopeful. Robin wishes to know who gave it to him, whether or not he lived up to its meaning.

‘Really,’ Chrom says without a doubt. 

Robin’s throat starts to tighten and he doesn’t want that. He stubbornly clears it. ‘Archanea?’ he asks, hoping to think about something else to avoid the stinging of his eyes.

‘It’s the - er, name of this continent, which houses Ylisse, Ferox and Plegia,’ Chrom says and - yes. That sounds right. ‘Actually, um, it was our country’s name too, before it got renamed to Ylisse.’

Robin hums. ‘The Holy Kingdom?’ 

‘Ah...perhaps once.’ Chrom sounds uncomfortable with that moniker. ‘To our West there’s Valentia, which includes: Valm, Rosanne, Novis, Rigel and Zofia.’ 

Robin thinks but whatever knowledge tangles in names and numbers. ‘Rigel and Zophia…’

‘Those Kingdoms share - a complicated history Even their patron Dragons…’ Chrom trails off, uncertain why or what Robin is asking. He’s not sure himself.

Robin frowns. ‘...siblings?’ 

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Chrom nods, his hair tickles Robin’s cheek. He keeps his words slow, no doubt understanding the need for a distraction. ‘Mila, the Dragon of Earth and her brother: Dume, Dragon of War.’ 

Robin feels himself tense. ‘He fell.’ During the Time of Madness, as degeneration poisoned the dragons, many lost themselves. 

‘They both did.’ 

Robin forces himself to continue to breathe, even as he tenses. ‘They stayed here too long, like Grima.’ Mila had been the strongest of them. A mighty creature with a kind heart and too much compassion. Her brother, though they often disagreed, protected her. Theirs was was such a sad tale.

‘Do you…’ Chrom begins after a pause and then stops.

‘Hm?’ Robin hums as he attempts to refocus. 

‘I’m sorry, it’s insensitive -’

‘Chrom?’ Robin prompts.

‘Do you know why your people still decided to worship Grima after He fell?’ 

To fall was too easy a word for what it meant. For the pain and destruction it caused. Many tribes of Manaketes were lost in the fray, trying to contain their Lord or Lady Dragon that lost themselves.

‘He -’ Robin stops himself, forces himself to relax and just let the information flow. ‘Grima protected us for nothing more than companionship. He wanted to see us live our lives and when it was our time, He guided us to our final resting peace. His symbol: Grima’s Eyes is a protection against harm, and a offering.’

‘...offering?’ Chrom repeats, sounding weary despite himself.

‘To see. He’s no longer with us, but he still protects and guides us so wearing Grima’s Eye, or having one at home is continuing the tradition, of sharing our time with Him.’ 

‘That sounds…’ Chrom pauses as he searches for a word, ‘sincere.’ 

‘He’s not - a “Death Dragon”, Chrom,’ he says because Grima isn’t. The thought that people would believe that Grima is behind such cruelty - it’s unspeakable. 

‘I know.’ 

‘He’s - murder in his eyes is excusable only as a last resort and we must always repent. Rising the dead is a hideous crime, Chrom. No Grimleal, no one following His teachings would -’

‘I believe you, Robin.’ Chrom says clearly before Robin can work himself up again.

‘...I don’t know why He has such a bad reputation, Chrom.’

‘He didn’t always. During the war it got…’ Robin can guess enough of what Chrom’s trying to say and it saddens him.

‘He deserves better. The only reason He fell is because He did not want to leave us.’ Grima stayed longer than he should have because they’d been under siege from another Lost One, and was trying to protect them. He’d loved their country and their world, as puny as they are compared to the Dragons. 

Chrom inhales. ‘I’ll - be stricter at discipling my men for any disparaging remarks.’ 

‘You do not truly think that any people would worship something hellbent on - hedonism and murder, do you?’ It sounds ridiculous. Why would anyone give reverence to evil?

‘Well, when you put it like that…’

Robin can’t help but snort.

‘While I was waiting to be allowed excess into your room, I asked Emm to translate a prayer. I - I don’t know if I would be...welcome to His words, but you were open to reading to me, and you sounded like…’ 

‘You looked for a Grimleal prayer, One of Naga?’ Robin asks as he straightens and leans back to see Chrom properly, to watch the blue of his eyes. He pointedly ignores the position they’re both in. Thinking too hard on it is sure to worsen his headache.

Chrom smiles and its self-deprecating. ‘I would say Naga would forgive me, if there was anything to forgive. There’s no harm in prayers, no matter whose words they are.’ 

Robin smiles. ‘Which one did you find?’

‘The - er, the Shema - one?’ 

‘...you chose the Shema?’ Maybe Robin shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. 

‘Is that bad?’

‘Not at all.’  

* * *

Prayers concluded and they both make an effort to leave the sombre tone behind them. Robin spends some time chatting with Chrom, who continues to perch himself on the edge of the bed. The conversation is easier now as they both try and avoid heavier topics.

‘Milord?’ Frederick calls after knocking as Robin is asking about books without much success. Chrom isn’t much of a reader and he seems sheepish about it.

‘Well? Do you want to invite him in?’ Chrom enquires with a quirk of his lips. 

‘I don’t think he’s asking me, Chrom.’ 

Chrom sighs his acknowledgement. ‘Come on in, Frederick.’

The knight enters, bows and ignores Robin entirely. ‘Milord, I’ve been told to inform you that Knight Phila has returned. Your Lady Sister is asking for an audience with you and the representative.’

_The representative, huh?_ Robin tries to shrug it off. The lack of respect doesn’t have to hurt and it shouldn’t. He doesn’t know this man and this man doesn’t know him. 

‘Now?’ Chrom asks as he goes to stand. 

‘Yes, Milord.’

‘Hm.’ Chrom turns to him with an open expression. ‘Do you feel up to it, Robin?’ 

That goes without saying. Robin looks down at himself, and sees the nightwear he’s been put in. ‘Where are my clothes?’ 

‘Ah. I sent for it to be cleaned.’

Robin’s breath hitches and he doesn’t mean for it to be audible but his clothes are the only things he has. The only things that are left now, and the thought that they are in someone else’s hands is disconcerting. 

‘I’ve brought you replacements while we wait, and Maribelle made me leave your robe behind.’ 

‘...she did?’ That was - thoughtful. Though he hasn’t spent much time with her, Robin didn’t think she’d have that in her. Which may be unkind of him, really, but her reaction to their discussion on Elder Magic hadn’t gone very well. 

‘She didn’t think it wise for you to wake up with all your possessions missing. Admittedly, I didn’t think of that. But you already had blood splotted on you from the day before, so even she didn’t think it hygienic  _ not _ to send everything else to the wash.’

‘But my robe is still here?’ His robe with its many pockets filled with things from before.

‘Hung near the door,’ Chrom says as anxiousness starts to rise in the man, ‘I - didn’t mean to -’

Robin shakes his head. Chrom had been trying to do him a favour. ‘I’m grateful for your forethought.’ 

‘But Maribelle was correct in her assertion,’ Chrom asserts with a grimace. 

Reluctantly, Robin admits: ‘...yes, they’re all I can lay claim to.’ 

‘Perhaps not for long though.’ 

‘Perhaps,’ Robin allows. Chrom seems far more optimistic than he is, but that may just be for the best. One of them should be. ‘Might you point me towards these clothes?’

Chrom gestures haphazardly to the side. ‘They’re folded in the bedside cabinet.’ 

‘Right.’ Robin glances at it before looking back to Chrom. ‘May you both leave so I can get dressed?’ 

‘Of course.’ Chrom ushers Frederick outside and the door locks shut behind them. Robin waits a moment and his ears catch the beginnings of a hushed conversation, muted by the door as Robin swings his legs over the edge of the bed. His fever has cooled now, leaving him cold in the tepid temperatures of the room, despite the candles and the fireplace roaring. He’s grateful for the rug cushioning his feet, sparing him from the floor. 

He leans forward on the soles of his feet and almost hits the floor. He braces his hands on his knees and decides to save getting up for later. Instead, he opens the cabinet on the bed and tentatively reaches out to remove the pile of clothing inside. Looking at it, and they must be new as Chrom’s obviously attempted to replicate his outfit. 

Robin shimmies out of the nightwear. His hair ruffles itself as he frees himself from the collar. He doesn’t pause long in folding the linen and placing it off to the side, before picking up the shirt. It has a low neck, like he’s used to, but the sleeves are full and have deep cuffs. It’s loose and comfortable when he gets it on, but still strange. The doublet is gold and similar to his, if tighter. He stands and pull on the trousers and sits right back down once he’s finished to save his wobbly legs.

His fists curl into the sheets under him. This lightheadedness is going to be annoying. ‘Chrom?’

‘Yes?’ Chrom calls back.

‘Where are my boots?’

‘Under the bed.'

‘And my belt?’

‘In the draw. The weapons are leant up against the side.’ 

‘Alright. Okay.’ He cautiously slips from the bed and feels for leather until he finds his footwear. He puts them on while he’s on the floor and laces them clumsily. He uses the cabinet to stand and feels almost out of breath. Pulling on the draw, he sees his belts and carries them out. He spends some time fiddling with them to get them back on, where he holsters his tome and sword last.

‘Right,’ he says again as he approaches the door and finds his cloak hanging there, on the door peg, waiting for him like Chrom had said. He tugs it free, slings it over his arm and exits the room. ‘Thank you for waiting.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Chrom dismisses as he turns in the direction they should be going, while Frederick watches over his shoulder. ‘The meeting room is pretty far, would you like my arm?’ 

Robin tilts his head. ‘You seem attached to it, at the moment.’ 

‘No,’ Chrom laughs as Frederick stares on in horror. ‘If you’re feeling unsteady, I’m offering to help you.’ 

Robin thinks about it before allowing their arms to be linked. ‘...thank you kindly.’ Face planting will help no one and Forrest is sure to be tired of him at this point. Plus, Frederick’s outrage is pretty funny though the knight is being uncharacteristically silent.

‘Think of it as me repaying you for your hard work.’ 

‘I  _ am _ very tired.’ 

‘Yes,’ Chrom winces though it was a jest. Maybe an ill advised one. ‘Forrest said how you’d be having some dizzy spells.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ He’ll have to be. It’s his own fault for overtaxing himself like he did anyway, and he can’t keep leaning on people forever. 

‘You’ll be even better once we get you sat down.’ They continue to walk and Robin loses track of the direction they’re travelling until Chrom stops outside a room with two guards. Their faces are shadowed by their helmets but he deliberately doesn’t try and see past it. ‘Ready?’

‘As ever,’ Robin says. 

Chrom nods to the guards and knocks on the door. He waits for an acknowledgement before entering. It takes a moment for Robin to recognise this as the same room he was brought to, when he first made it to the castle. 

Exalt Emmeryn is sat when they step inside but raises as they enter with a knight by her side. ‘Robin, it is good to see you again,’ she says kindly with a gentle smile on her face as she watches them.

‘And I you, Your Grace.’ While nerve-racking, Exalt Emmeryn is a pleasant lady. Though there seems to be more than meets the eye. 

‘Please sit,’ she says to them. Frederick stays by the door but Chrom walks him forward and drags out a chair for him. The prince sits next to him without word. ‘...I feel like I should thank you, again, for offering my brother your services and by his word, your advice,’ she chuckles demurely, hiding her amused smile behind her hand.

Advice. A nice way of putting how Robin had spoken out of turn, in a very undignified fashion. ‘I…’ 

‘I am only teasing, Robin,’ Exalt Emmeryn pacifies him as she folds her hands in front of her.  ‘Though you probably want me to tell me what has happened.’ 

‘Yes, Your Grace.’ 

Exalt Emmeryn nods and glances towards her knight. ‘Phila.’ 

The knight stands from her place by Exalt Emmeryn’s side. ‘Yes, My Exalt.’ Phila bows to her before addressing Robin. ‘I bring news from Ferox. Khan Basiliso is calling for your immediate return.’ 

There’s silence as they digest this. ‘...Khan Basiliso?’ Robin repeats to which Phila nods. Right. Basiliso? It doesn’t ring a bell which is frustrating. ‘I - did he say if he knew me?’

‘I got the sense that he was more than familiar with you,’ Phila comments dryly. ‘When I told him of your condition he demanded to know how you’d become injured and if it’d happened at the border.’ She pauses to let that sink in. ‘It took some reassurances that we did you know harm. He threatened us, so I would say he knew you.’ 

‘... _ threatened?’  _

Phila and Exalt Emmeryn exchange a look. ‘Khan Basiliso was extremely...upset. But he wasn’t overly surprised. I gathered that there was some trouble you’re in, but he wouldn’t tell me why he’d sent you to us until he saw you were in one piece for himself.’

‘...I see.’ 

‘Robin,’ Exalt Emmeryn says, ‘are you happy to return to Ferox and return to us once you’ve spoken to Khan Basiliso?’

‘Return?’

‘Khan Basiliso seemed sure you would make your way back to us.’ Phila says with more certainty than Robin has over the matter. He’s not sure what he was expecting but it definitely wasn’t this. 

‘You’re sure?’ 

Phila nods. ‘Khan Basiliso implied that the issue was very serious though I wasn’t able to -’ she pauses, looking somewhat vexed for a moment. ‘He was not happy to speak about anything until he understood the situation. Which I believed to be whether you are as safe as I assured him you are.’

Robin knew something vital and Ferox is involved but whatever it is, the Khan isn’t willing to sure his cards until he knows what’s on the table. ‘He didn’t believe you.’ 

That went without saying. ‘There were many things he didn’t say.’ 

_ Hm _ . ‘I’m fine to leave, Your Grace,’ he states, because this man knows him and wants him, ‘but I - don’t remember the journey.’ 

Exalt Emmeryn’s face is serious. ‘I wasn’t planning on allowing you to leave us alone. Our relationship with Ferox has been strained for years and they’ve known no interest in anything but our trading arrangements. We’ve had no communication with them bar your letter since our previous - ruler.’ 

‘I…’

‘Robin, if I may, it sounds as if you were sent to us in confidence. Your health and safety are an obligation, regardless if you can remember why you were sent here. This matter is of grave urgency to us,’ Exalt Emmeryn states. ‘So, it would be negligent of us to simply send you on your way.’

‘...then, what do you suggest we do?’ 

‘Since the Ferox have shown us quite a bit of good faith, I propose that we send you with an entourage.’ She looks off to the side, to her brother and her smile is just like his in that moment. ‘Chrom?’

Robin feels himself still in surprise.

‘Yeah, Emm?’ 

‘Pick a number of your Shepherd's to take yourself and Robin to Longfort with Robin,’ Exalt Emmeryn commands. Robin feels his eyes widen as Frederick makes a choking noise behind them. 

‘ Is that the agreed meeting place?’ Chrom asks without pause.

‘Yes. Though Khan Basilio hasn’t been very forthcoming.’ 

‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ Robin intercedes. It’s not his business to tell the Exalt what to do but this seems ill advised. 

‘Hm?’

‘To send Chrom with me,’ Robin clarifies though he’s sure Exalt Emmeryn knew what he meant. He can see her intelligence for himself, though she makes no effort to draw attention to it.

‘I don’t see why not.’ 

‘Dismissing the Risen, have you thought that this could be a trap.’ Robin can’t say why he was sent to Ylisse or choose to go, or what this has to do with Ferox but it can’t be nothing for a country in isolation to make contact after so long in silence. 

‘Yes.’ 

Robin frowns. The answer was immediate and Exalt Emmeryn’s face is so flat it’s impossible to get a good read on it. ‘Then -’

‘Robin, as encumbered as you are and in the situation you are, you have been nothing but honourable. At your most vulnerable, you have proven to be a friend to my brother and this country.’ Exalt Emmeryn says with with a smile and Chrom is nodding along and Robin just wants to smash the heads in together. 

He takes a breath instead. ‘...I fear that this may be naive.’

Exalt Emmeryn’s smile widens. ‘I’ve been called worse.’ 

_ ‘Your Grace -’ _

‘You council is appreciated but I’ve made up my mind,’ Exalt Emmeryn says assertively. ‘What say you, Brother?’

Robin forces himself to remain as apathetic as he can but he doesn’t need foresight to predict how Chrom will respond. ‘I trust Robin, and I’m willing to travel with him.’

‘I am pleased.’ 

‘I’m concerned about the protection you have,’ Robin says, though he wants to remain diplomatic, ‘if Chrom and his Shepherds are with me.’ 

‘I -’ the knock at the door interrupts Exalt Emmeryn. ‘Hold,’ she calls out before readdressing him, ‘Robin, though my brother does much for this kingdom, I am not without aid. My Pegasus Knights will be here for me,’ she states conciliatory but Robin can tell she’s said all she will on the topic. 

Pegasus Knights have a very exploitable weakness, but Robin can’t say this concern before Exalt Emmeryn is allowing the door to open. A figure stalks in, sticking to the shadows of the room. ‘My Lady.’

‘Ah… I presume you have news?’ The figure pauses and Robin gets the impression that he is being stared at. ‘I assure you that your identity will not be harmed through anyone here.’ 

Robin’s eyes narrow. But the stranger lowers his hood to present a young man, around Robin’s age with a bright stock of orange hair and dark eyes. ‘You’re that Plegian I’ve been hearin’ so much about,’ the man says as Robin begins to suspect just what this man is.

‘...pleasure,’ Robin says. 

The man smirks but their interaction is brief before he’s popping a lollipop into his mouth. It disarms Robin completely. He feels rather baffled as the man sucks on it. Where had he been keeping it? ‘News?’ Exalt Emmeryn reiterates.

The man refocuses and shrugs. ‘Yeah, something like that.’ 

‘...a private council, then?’ Exalt Emmeryn presumes after the man says silent.

‘If you’d be so kind, Milady.’  

Exalt Emmeryn inclines her head and raises from her seat. ‘Chrom, prepare your men to leave overmorrow.’ 

‘Alright.’

It’s only after Chrom is leading Robin away that he realises he never got the man’s name, as distracted as he became. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Facets is set between Chapter 2: Shepherds and Chapter 3: Warrior Realm.)
> 
> I liked aspects of this chapter, but it's mainly a set up to get me to "G" to be honest. More Chrom/ Robin time though, even if this is starting to feel like a slow burn to me. It feels weird not writing an established relationship. Anyway, I hope this has turned out better for you to read than it was for me to write.

**Author's Note:**

> Working Glossary (will change?): 
> 
> \- "Bhakti" is a Sanskirt word apparently, meaning "love and devotion". But it's connected to Hinduism, referring "to devotion to, and love for, a personal god or a representational god by a devotee."  
> \- "Tisbah ala khair" means: “(may you) awake to goodness (or health)” and it's Arabic.   
> \- "Baap re Baap!" means: "oh father/ God!" and is Hindi.  
> \- "Koi baat nahi" means: "no problem" and is Hindi.  
> \- "Comepinga" means: "dick" and is Cuban.  
> \- "Shalom aleichem" means: "peace be upon you" and is Hebrew.  
> \- "Hamaare punah milane tak" means: "until we meet again/ Goodbye"  
> \- "Namasthae" which is Hindi? Used to express a polite or respectful greeting or farewell  
> \- "Namaste" means literally "I bow to the divine in you" is usually spoken with a slight bow and hands pressed together, palms touching and fingers pointing upwards, thumbs close to the chest. This gesture is called Añjali Mudrā or Pranamasana. I obviously didn't copy that exactly.


End file.
